


My Curse to Bear

by unicornsandwolves



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: AU, Blood, Death, Gore, M/M, Romance, Violence, Worgen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-16
Updated: 2014-09-28
Packaged: 2018-02-13 11:29:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2149089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unicornsandwolves/pseuds/unicornsandwolves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anduin Wrynn never had much of a chance to learn about the curse that had befallen the Gilnean people, and had little contact with worgen themselves. When one of Wrathion's most prominent Blacktalons goes missing, it's Anduin who finds the worgen first... and becomes bitten.</p>
<p>The curse of the worgen has infected Anduin Wrynn, and it's up to him to decide if he can overcome his new bestial nature, or if the last of his hope has left with this curse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Missing Dog

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all! I hope you enjoy this fanfic, which combines my two favorite things in the World of Warcraft universe: Wranduin and Worgen.
> 
> As the fic progresses, I should note that I take certain liberties with the nature of the Gilnean curse, though it's mostly to add to the drama of the fic. I don't break lore too much, but I think those who enjoy a more classic werewolf mythos will enjoy what I've done.
> 
> Also, Wranduin. Dare I say more?

These days, the Tavern in the Mists was quiet. Serene, even. The Horde and Alliance had long since pulled out their main fighting forces; the Horde was still rebuilding from their losses, and the Alliance had no reason to check such a broken faction. And, of course, many Alliance soldiers wanted to go home. As inviting and relaxing as Pandaria was, many Alliance members still didn’t find it home, and after the Siege, many wanted to spend time with their families. The odd champion still came around to ask after Wrathion, but over the days even the eager-eyed adventurers had slowed.

Anduin liked the peace. He reclined in a chair at the Tavern, feeling the breeze of encroaching night whip through the place just before the doors were closed. No doubt Wrathion would be barking for his tea, though at the moment the Black Prince was not anywhere in sight. Anduin didn't mind— Wrathion had his own business to attend to, and Anduin would never bother him from it. The Black Prince had a huge agenda which had just been screwed up (he enjoyed putting the blame on Anduin’s father whenever the subject was broached, and Anduin still wasted breath on trying to explain how the Alliance crushing the Horde would not bring the peace that both of them wished— Anduin wasn't sure why he tried at this point, but Wrathion always made him do such things), and he was busier than ever, running back and forth between the Tavern and the Black Market, giving orders to his Blacktalons and perching on the roof as a whelp to watch their comings and goings.

It must have been exhausting, Anduin mused. Perhaps that was why Wrathion consumed so much tea. It contained the same amount of caffeine as coffee, if brewed right, without the crash that would accompany such things. And Wrathion was only a whelp. Most dragons his age would be far more preoccupied with naps and playtime than with saving the world.

Movement caught Anduin’s attention from his thoughts, and he felt a smile spread over his face as a black whelp with a fire orange belly flapped into the tavern, a scroll clutched in its black talons. With a puff of black smoke, Wrathion emerged in his human form, the jewelry on his turban chiming with his steps. Anduin noticed how it seemed that Wrathion was growing before his very eyes—he was already a good inch taller than Anduin from when they first met, and there was a leanness to his cheeks and jaw that wasn't there before. It was… handsome, in a way.

The glare in Wrathion’s red eyes wasn’t very becoming of his dark features, however. He snarled at air as he stalked past Anduin, waving his taloned hand in the air, stirring leftover wisps of smoke. The sharp scent of cinnamon followed his wake as well as the scent of smoke, and Anduin had to cover his sneeze. “Tong!” Wrathion’s voice rattled. “Tea, _now_!”

Anduin waited until the Black Prince had settled himself with a huff on the seat next to Anduin, holding a steaming cup of tea. It was then that Anduin offered his smile to the dragon. “Bad day?”

“Isn’t that an astute observation, Prince,” Wrathion snapped. After a moment, he sighed, pressing the tips of his claws to his forehead. As always, Wrathion didn't offer an apology. “Nothing has been going right ever since Garrosh was captured. And now, and _now_ , one of my agents is _missing_!”

This surprised Anduin. He at least hid his shock well, or so he hoped. “Missing? Really?”

“It’s what I just said,” Wrathion growled, and Anduin felt the hairs on the back of his neck stick up. “I can always find more to replace him, but… this Blacktalon had been with me for a long time.”

Anduin’s gaze swept the tavern, but Right and Left were stationed where they had always been, in their relaxed-yet-ready-to-strike poses. He wasn’t sure who else Wrathion could be referring to, but the Prince must have read the question on Anduin’s face. “It was a worgen… ah… I forgot his name. Something terribly Gilnean, like Bastian or something.”

 _‘Worgen?’_ Anduin had little dealing with the cursed denizens of Gilneas. They were fascinating to him, but most of those who had escaped Gilneas had assimilated themselves completely with the Kaldorei, and were all very… to the point. They hated anything they considered “wasting their time”, and that did include the Prince of Stomwind asking them inane questions about the particulars of turning into a half-man, half-wolf creature. “So, that scroll…” Anduin ventured.

“Was one of my scout’s reports, yes.” Wrathion twisted his claws in the few locks of his black hair that had escaped his turban. “They still haven’t found any trace of him. How in the Light could a worgen be lost? He’s big, hulking, and smells like a wet dog! Anything with a nose could trace him for miles…”

“Do you think he quit?” Anduin asked, and judging by the look on Wrathion’s face, he had just gone down a notch in his perceived intelligence to the Black Prince.

“No one quits my Blacktalons,” Wrathion said, leaving the threat between his words. “And this worgen had been with me since the start. He wouldn’t just _leave_.”

“Do you think… he was caught?” Anduin saw Wrathion’s shoulders twitch at the statement.

“It’s the only plausible explanation,” Wrathion said, taking a long sip from his tea. “And that bodes far more demons than I wish to contemplate.” He closed his eyes, inhaling the scent from his tea, before his gaze slid to Anduin. “You don’t know any tracking spells, do you? Hah. What am I saying? Of course not. That would be terribly useful to me at this point.”

Anduin only afforded Wrathion a roll of his eyes before he spoke. “Have you tried talking to King Greymane? Or maybe one of the Kaldorei?”

“Ah yes, that sounds like a cheerful letter to compose! ‘Dear Leader of the Worgen and current Babysitter of the Worgen: one of your kind, who has joined me and by consequence somewhat forsaken the Alliance, has gotten himself lost and I need your help in tracking him down so he can rejoin me and my cause at the cost of a body to your useless armies.’” His slitted pupils dilated as he gazed into Anduin’s eyes. “Do you see any problems with that, because _I_ see more than a few. I can’t ask for help with this, Anduin.”

Anduin opened his mouth to argue, and closed it. Wrathion was right, and he couldn’t find any fault in his argument. While Wrathion had helped out the Alliance, there were more than a few Horde champions who had also contacted him, and Anduin did not know how well King Greymane might take to the idea of his own people abandoning the cause of retaking Gilneas. Deserters were never treated well, and the worgen might be labeled as one without the protection of the Black Prince. If Wrathion wanted the worgen back in the Blacktalons, he’d have to find him first before anyone else.

It was a few moments of tense silence before Anduin spoke. “No leads, I take it?”

Wrathion sighed, a wisp of smoke escaping from between his lips. “None. If there were, we wouldn't be having this conversation. Are you sure that you didn't hit your head during your… accident?” He waved a hand lazily in Anduin’s direction, his eyes darting to Anduin’s leg.

A twinge of pain shot up Anduin’s leg at the mention, and he placed a hand on it, trying to relax it. It was still in the process of healing, and probably would be for a long, long time. The talk of amputation had floated around the clerics when they didn't think Anduin was listening. He did his best to ignore it.

“Wrathion, I am sure that my mind is in working order,” Anduin said with all the patience he could muster. “As is my hope. You’re talented, and if that worgen is the one I think he is, I imagine that he’ll be back soon, and with something for you that he was tracking in your honor.” Anduin smiled, and though the Black Prince rolled his eyes, a corner of his mouth twitched into an unwilling smile.

“Your hope is infuriating at times, young prince,” Wrathion said. Something cold brushed Anduin’s forehead, and it took him a stupidly long second to realize that Wrathion was brushing a piece of his hair out of his face with a claw. The point trailed just along his skin, curving behind his ear. “Though I would call it naivety.”  


Anduin had to get his tongue working after a few seconds of it being stuck to the roof of his mouth. “Y-you would,” he said, in a voice that cracked in too many places. Wrathion didn't seem to notice, and must have become bored of playing with the prince’s hair, because his hand pulled away and the Black Prince stood.

“I have a lot to do tonight Anduin,” he said. “So long as this worgen is missing, I have to operate as if my enemies know my moves. I don’t think I’ll be able to entertain you with my presence.”

Anduin didn’t resist from rolling his eyes as he started to stand. He balanced on his good leg, keeping the injured one off the ground as he groped for his crutch; Wrathion found it for him, placing it underneath Anduin’s arm. “Please,” Anduin said. “Do what you must. I’m sure I can handle an evening of not basking in your glory.” His tone was dry, but Wrathion still grinned his sharp toothed grin a mile wide.

“I know it’ll be tough, but try not to miss me too much,” the Black Prince purred. His smile became slightly less wide as he glanced around. “Where’s your entourage?”

“Outside.” Anduin smiled. “Dad’s finally realized that of all the enemies the Wrynns have, you, so far, have not proven to be one of them. And I know how to wriggle past most of his security anyways.”

“So he’s finally let the captive princess out of his tower.” Wrathion’s grin resumed. “Not scared of a dragon snatching you away, is he?”

“You’re a little small for that,” Anduin said, and took way more pleasure in how quickly the dragon’s grin fell than he should have. Wrathion turned his back on Anduin with a huff, waving his hand at him.

“Go, little Prince of Stormwind. You bore me.”

“Good night Wrathion,” Anduin said with a smile, and hobbled out of the tavern. A few Alliance soldiers, perched on their armored griffins, were waiting for him a bit further down the path, with Anduin’s own snow white griffin tethered between them. Anduin offered them his reassuring smile to hide the pain that now vibrated up his leg, and to mask his own conflicting thoughts.

Damn Wrathion. He could still feel the dragon’s claws on his face, and hated how it made his breath catch and his cheeks warm. The dragon didn't even know what he was doing, that was the worst part. He was already oblivious to some of his champions making goo goo eyes at him (something which Andiun used to find amusing, until recently), and the fact that he made Andiun so confused was… humiliating. He was a priest of the Light, and the last thing he needed was some arrogant black dragon messing with his thoughts.

Anduin tried to remind himself of this as the griffins made their way to the largely abandoned Alliance outpost in Shieldwall, but he could still feel Wrathion’s claws against his skin. He hated himself just a little bit more that night.


	2. Found Dog

It was days later that Anduin was allowed to leave to see Wrathion at the Tavern again. His father had to run back to Stormwind for some business, so Anduin was, of course, dragged along. The moment he was free of his princely obligations, he begged and pleaded to go back to Pandaria, and even used the excuse that Pandaria was just _better_ at healing him. The fact that he had no friends in Stormwind was also another weapon that he wielded in his arguments. Eventually Varian had to cave to his whims, especially if he wanted Anduin to cooperate with him on any future endeavors. Anduin had made it _extremely clear_ that his support would be hard to get if his father didn't comply with this request.

It wasn't exactly the most noble thing for Anduin to do, but he was going to go crazy if he was shoved up in his tower like princesses of old, with nothing but the books that he’s read a thousand times over. Lady Jaina was too busy to talk to these days, and she was more of an older relative to Anduin than a friend.

His only friend had become a black dragon. Anduin shook his head as he gripped the reigns of his griffin. What a world he lived in.

The group landed near the steps of the Tavern. The guards were about to dismount to follow Anduin when the prince raised his hand. “Please,” he said. “This is my good friend we’re visiting. And he has guards a-plenty. I think you all can spare me going up these steps alone to sit in another room full of armed guards.” The guards exchanged looks with each-other, but with reluctance nodded to him.

“If we hear anything suspicious Prince Anduin,” one of the men said, “we will not hesitate to burst in. Sir.”

Anduin just smiled and waved at them before he took his cane off his griffin’s saddle and started to limp his way up the Tavern’s steps. It was painful, but he didn't let it slow him down, and soon he had hurdled his way over the last step and hobbled into the Tavern.

He was expecting warmth, and people, and at least light. Instead he was greeted with darkness and an emptiness that suggested that he was the only one in the Tavern. It was still light enough outside that he could make out the outlines of the place, and it hadn't been dark enough to light candles… but the place was still. Not even Tong was around.

“Hello?” Anduin’s voice cracked, and he hated himself for it. No one answered him, and he felt stupid for trying, but it was better than doing nothing. He strained for any noises, and heard nothing. Not even the scuttling of claws along the roof, or the flapping of wings, or the footfalls of Right and Left.

Anduin really didn't want to go back home so soon, but no one was around. He turned around to walk out of the tavern when he heard something, scratching, just in reach of his hearing. Anduin stilled his breath, and this time he heard something louder: a whine, like someone was in pain.

Anduin limped as fast as he could across the Tavern floor, and all but swung himself outside into the back part. He landed on his bad foot, and swallowed a cry back as pain echoed through his very bones. He leaned on his cane, feeling the point sink into the dirt as he breathed, casting his eyes down…

And he saw shadows. Not just shadows, but moving, shifting, black and white puddles. Anduin’s heart made a sickly thump in his chest. _‘Sha corruption. Here?’_ His thoughts drifted to Wrathion, and his stomach clenched. The connection between the Old Gods and the Sha was too close for Anduin’s comfort.

He started to follow the tracks, ignoring every instinct that screamed at him to turn around, to ask his guards for help. But if Wrathion had fallen under the corruption of the Sha, he wasn't going to trust his father’s guards with such a situation… not when they were on order to attack anything that might be deemed a slight threat to Anduin.

The tracks stopped after the spa, underneath the thick shadows of trees and bushes. Something was hunched in there, dripping the Sha corruption, and Anduin held his breath as he let the Light flow into his hand. It brightened the area just enough for him to see the figure.

A wave of relief crashed over Anduin when he recognized the shape of the worgen, kneeling in the dirt, its muzzle pointed down and ears folded against its head. _‘It’s not Wrathion, thank the Light.’_ That relief was short-lived when the worgen let out a low whine, and it lifted its eyes to stare at Anduin.

They were soulless, grey. Devoid of humanity, devoid of any emotion except…. The feeling licked against Anduin’s skin. Despair. He was too familiar with this Sha. His eyes cast over the worgen’s form, noting the leather that clad its legs, the daggers sheathed at its waist…

This was the worgen Wrathion had been searching for. And it was still whining, in clear pain. Anduin tried to look for any wounds, but the worgen lurched toward him, and Anduin took a step back. The fangs of worgen were already intimidating, but this one’s had been lengthened by the corruption, gleaming black in coloration. It began to speak, its rough voice reverberating in a doubled sound.

“ _Never…_ ” He said, standing up fully, dwarfing Anduin. “ _Never will I be free of it… This curse…_ ”

Anduin felt the Light pulse into his open palm. The worgen’s head tilted, ears flicking, and the eyes fixated on him. Its claws clicked as the worgen drew closer, trailing the Sha corruption from its black fur. More of it spilled from his muzzle as he spoke.

“ _They promised us control from this… but there is no control. The Black Prince promised me a life… but he treats me like a monster. It’s all I am. I am a beast… I am a cursed_ thing!” The worgen snarled, and its claws lashed out in front of it. Anduin hid his yelp as he slammed onto the ground, losing his balance, and started backpedaling as the worgen advanced. Its heavy paw slammed down on Anduin’s bad leg, claws puncturing through to his skin and the pain was so intense as to render him silent.

“ _The pain you feel cannot compare!_ ” The worgen’s snarl continued to rise, the Sha echo taking over more and more of its growling voice. “ _Every time I transform, it becomes worse! Every time I lose more and more of my mind! Once a monster… never anything more._ ” The worgen took a padding step closer, and bent down to Anduin’s face. Saliva mixed with Sha corruption dripped onto Anduin’s tabard, and the teeth were dangerously close to his throat. “ _I cannot control the beast I am anymore. Giving in to the curse… is the only thing I can do._ ”

The worgen launched, and Anduin unleashed the blast of Light that he had been storing. It hit the worgen full force in the muzzle and it yelped as it was flung back. Sha goo flung off its fur, but it was far too quick to recover, claws digging in the dirt as he slid on fours. The worgen looked up at Anduin and _snarled_ , a sound that went straight to his gut, and it charged. Anduin only had enough time to raise his arms to protect his neck before he was slammed by the beast, all of the wind knocked out of him. Claws ripped his clothes to shreds, catching on his skin and tearing it as neatly as paper, and teeth snapped at him. Anduin shoved his hands against the worgen’s jaws, shouting as he tried to pry its jaws off, but it shoved its muzzle forward and Anduin felt its fangs against his wrist.

The smell of smoke assaulted his scents, and soon, heat blasted against his face. Fire licked up the side of the worgen and it let out a howl of pain, rolling off of Anduin. The prince wasted no time in scrambling back, and he could not be happier to see who stepped out of the shadows.

Wrathion, black smoke billowing from his human form that he must have just entered, spilling out from his mouth and nostrils. He held a fireball in his black taloned hands, and his glowing red gaze was fixated on the worgen, who was still stumbling in the grass. Burnt fur cloyed most of Anduin’s sense of smell, but he could hear the painful whines of the worgen as it stumbled, some of its black fur still shimmering in embers. Wrathion let out a snarl as the fireball swirled in his hand. “Suffer, you pathetic coward!” He screamed.

Anduin only had a chance to yell “No!” before Wrathion let the fireball loose. It exploded into the area the worgen was, illuminating everything in a brilliant crimson light. The worgen’s cry tore at Anduin’s heart, and despite the excruciating pain that radiated down his leg, he lurched upright and grabbed Wrathion’s arm. “Don’t!” He said, shaking the black dragon, who looked at him with an uncomprehending gaze. “He’s been corrupted by the Sha!”

Wrathion snarled, and shook his arm to lay Anduin back down on the grass. “Don’t hurt yourself, little prince!” Wrathion called before he dashed to the smoking underbrush where the worgen had drug itself. Anduin heard a growl from the worgen, answered by a louder snarl from Wrathion. Another burst of fire, and it went silent.

Anduin strained to see anything, and soon enough Wrathion came back toward him, brushing his claws on his fine pants as if nothing had just occurred. Left and Right came trailing after Wrathion, and held the smoking, limp worgen between them. Anduin scrambled upright, though Wrathion caught his shoulder. “Is he—“ Anduin breathed.

“Alive? Yes. I just had my bodyguards knock him out so as to make it easier for you to do your… Light mumbo jumbo.” Wrathion leaned down enough to snatch Anduin’s cane while still supporting the prince’s weight. “But I need to know if you were hurt. You smell of blood.”

As if by Wrathion’s words, pain began to radiate through Anduin’s torso. He hissed and almost buckled, but the dragon’s warm hands were supporting him. Wrathion clicked his tongue. “Always getting yourself hurt,” he said. “C’mon, little prince.”

The worgen had been dragged away into an adjoining room, and Anduin had been settled onto the bench, with a warm cup of tea already pressed into his hands. Every time he tried to ask about the worgen, Wrathion would just shush him and tell him to drink his tea. He was bandaged by the dragon, but when it came to fully removing his shirt, Anduin hesitated.

Wrathion lifted a thick eyebrow that disappeared into his turban. “Are you being bashful now? Anduin, now is hardly the time for propriety.” Before Anduin could even protest more, the last of his clothing had been removed, and Wrathion’s claws traced over his arm. They snagged on Anduin’s right wrist, where four shallow wounds were. “Anduin, did he—“

“N-no, it was just his claws!” Anduin swallowed back his nerves. “I lifted my arms to protect my face and he scratched me.” That was what he kept telling himself.

Wrathion’s red eyes studied his face with a quiet intensity, the reptilian slits narrowing until they were just lines… and after an agonizing moment, he looked down. “You’re lucky he didn't slit your wrist open.” Anduin felt Wrathion’s hand shaking against his own, and when he glanced at the dragon, he was surprised to see his fangs bared over his lips, to the point that blood welled on his bottom lip.

“Wrathion…” Anduin kept his voice cool, and reached to brush the Black Prince’s face. Wrathion pulled away before his fingers could even graze his skin, and watched as the prince began to pace.

“He needs to be punished,” Wrathion hissed. “I will not allow such little self-control in my Blacktalons!”

“It wasn’t his fault,” Anduin said. “The Sha got to him. That sort of corruption… it’s hard to fight. Impossible without help.” He paused. “He must have been letting his doubt eat at him… I’m surprised it was Despair who got to him.”

Wrathion’s sharp gaze flicked to Anduin’s face. “Didn't you banish that one?”

“I did, but…” Anduin shook his head. “I think it’s impossible to kill them entirely. And you've had Blacktalons investigating all the Sha areas, haven’t you? It’s possible some of the lingering energies latched onto him.”

Wrathion’s face turned into a sneer. “He should have reported this to me! He should have been more cautious! He’s a worgen, this kind of incompetence is—“

“I need to see him.” Anduin began to stand, wincing at all the new wounds on his midsection. “Please. He needs the Light.”

For a long second, it seemed as if Wrathion would refuse, and the black dragon tapped his claws on his crossed arms… and finally sighed. “You’re not entering that room without me,” he said, and grabbed Anduin by his arm to haul him upright.

Getting up the stairs was an excruciating experience, and Anduin was more than glad for Wrathion’s help. He was shaking by the time they got to the top, and tried to ignore how Wrathion’s claws dug into him. The Black Prince’s nervousness wasn’t helping Anduin’s own.

The worgen had been set up in one of the spare rooms—the one that Anduin frequented the most. The smell of singed fur made the priest gag, but he forced himself to focus on the worgen. Other than the burn that stretched across his back, he appeared to be relatively whole. The corruption still leaked from his claws and teeth, and low whines echoed from the worgen’s open jaws.

Anduin knelt down by him, and glared at Wrathion when the Black Prince tried to hold him back. “I can’t do my job if you keep yanking me around like a child,” Anduin hissed.

Wrathion growled, but let go. “I’m kicking the worgen across the room if this doesn't work,” he said, and his voice bespoke no argument.

Anduin had one shot at this. Peachy. He began to concentrate, saying verses under his breath until the warmth of the Light radiated through his aching body and pooled into his palms. He scooted to the prone form of the worgen, shoving his irritation away as he felt Wrathion’s claws against his shoulder again. He needed to retain all of his focus and didn't need the black dragon constantly poking and prodding at him, but after a point he was able to shut the dragon out of his thoughts and consciousness and focus on starving the corruption inside of the worgen.

It went deeper than Anduin had even suspected. The worgen must have been carrying his doubts with him for a long time, and the Sha had found a fertile feeding ground. Despair and Doubt raged in him, and it took many minutes before the Light burned away the last of it. By the end, Anduin pitched forward, ready to fall asleep on top of the worgen, but Wrathion caught him and stood him up shakily.

“My little prince,” Wrathion said. “Don’t fall asleep now, or I’ll have to deal with your dad’s guards, and they don’t particularly like me.”

 _‘Oh. Right.’_ How in the Light did those guards not come running? … The worgen was a bit far down the hill when Anduin found him, and half the time the worgen was snarling in his face. By the time the Black Prince hauled him back down the stairs, his guards were looking around, wild-eyed, and at seeing the Prince of Stormwind freshly bandaged on his midsection and wrist, they drew their swords.

“You damned black dragon!” One of them hissed, and Anduin felt the tension of Wrathion next to him. A low _sss_ sound escaped the dragon, and Anduin saw how his eyes gleamed. The guards began to press forward. “By order of the King of—“

“Stop!” Anduin was getting sick of saying that word today. The guards at least listened to him, staring at him, though they weren't backing down. “This wasn't Wrathion’s fault! One of—“ Anduin paused, cleared his throat. “A worgen became infected by the Sha. One of the adventurers that comes through here. Wrathion pulled the worgen off me before any more damage could be had.”

Anduin hated lying, but he knew if he said that it was a Blacktalon worgen, there was no way Wrathion would hear the end of it, and the Black Prince’s plans would be disrupted. And an adventurer worgen placed the worgen within the Alliance itself—not to mention it didn't raise so many questions about how the worgen could have come across the corruption. Adventurers were constantly poking their heads into places that they shouldn't be.

The guards hesitated, exchanging another glance with each-other, and finally, with a smooth slth sound, sheathed their swords. “Why wasn't Wrathion there at the beginning of the fight?” One of them asked, who had grey in his hair.

“Ah, see, the thing is, I was running around with Tong buying herbs for a fresh batch of tea.” Wrathion’s voice was as smooth as silk as he began to lead Anduin down the stairs. “I wasn’t expecting Prince Anduin tonight, and thus had been taking my time with the shopping. In fact, I daresay I arrived in the nick of time before your precious Prince turned into dog food.” The guards tensed at this, their eyes narrowing.

“You need to be treated,” one of the guards said. “A worgen attack is vicious—“

“Does the Prince look like he can be moved?” Wrathion cut across the guards, and Anduin himself. “I’m having to support his weight and he’s shaking like a rattlesnake. No, it’s best if the prince remains here, where the best in Pandaria can tend to his wounds.” Wrathion held Anduin a bit closer to himself, and the authority in his voice rang.

Authority of a two year old dragon. Anduin just resisted from rolling his eyes, but he did glance at the guards. “I’ll be fine,” he said. “And Wrathion will close his tavern from any more adventurers. Right, Wrathion?” Anduin shot the black dragon a look.

Wrathion grumbled, and then sighed. “Yes, yes, no outsiders will be allowed in so long as the Prince of Stormwind is recovering from his attack. Now why don’t you two run along? You’re crowding the prince.”

Wrathion really had no idea how to handle his royal guard. Anduin rolled his eyes for the benefit of the royal entourage before he inclined his head to them. “You may go,” he said. “I’d rather like some privacy after… this. And I know you’re forced to report everything to my father, but… give this incident a day, okay?” He smiled at the guards, and even though they looked dubious, they paced to the far end of the tavern and sat, soon becoming absorbed in talking to each-other.

Anduin breathed a sigh of relief, and sagged against his cane. Wrathion’s claws tapped at the underside of his arm, and he helped the prince into the dragon’s own room. Anduin blinked in surprise. “Uhm, where are you—“

“With the worgen.” Wrathion’s gaze slid to the side. “I would prefer to keep an eye on him while he recovers. Make sure that he doesn’t do anything more idiotic than he already has.” Wrathion led him into the room and set him on the bed. Anduin winced from the pain, and felt Wrathion pushing him further into the bed. “Now you stay here little prince, and don’t move,” he said. “When you wake tomorrow, breakfast will be waiting.” Wrathion’s claws brushed some hair aside on Anduin’s face, and soon he moved away, the smoke and cinnamon scent fading after his departure.

Anduin sighed, and didn’t realize that he was scratching at his wrist until his fingernails caught on the bandages. He pulled his hand away, and after a moment, peeled them back just enough to look at the wounds.

They had become red, and inflamed. Four marks dotted his wrist, with the furthest one curling in a slash on the inner part of his wrist. They itched, and it took the last of Anduin’s self restraint to keep from ripping them open. Even so, the edges of the wound seemed… old, as if the skin was already trying to heal.

Anduin frowned, and replaced the bandages, turning over on the dragon’s bed. The scent of cinnamon still lingered in the pillows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now things are starting to roll along! I'm going to try to update this fic on a weekly basis after I post my initial three chapters, but no guarantees!


	3. Cursed Dog

As promised, Anduin woke to a full breakfast at his bedside. Which was great, because he was _starving_. He didn't bother with the utensils provided and shoveled it into his mouth, groaning in pleasure. He almost resorted to licking the bowl clean when the door opened, and Anduin jerked backwards into bed.

A whelp with black scales and a brilliant orange belly came flapping into the room on its little wings before it landed on Anduin’s stomach, watching him with red eyes. “How do you feel?” The black dragon asked.

Anduin smiled. It was hard not to—Wrathion looked _adorable_ like this. “Better,” he said. He actually felt a lot better than he could have reasonably expected. It was… a little strange. He figured he should have been fatigued or something--

The whelp padded over his stomach and Anduin let out a sound too much like a squeak as the dragon’s claws brushed over his skin. Anduin had always been ticklish, and he tried to curl up into a ball as much as he could, which made the dragon growl and puff smoke in his face.

“Don’t squirm so much, little prince!” The whelp snapped. “I’m right here!”

“You have wings, and I hate feeling your little claws all over my chest,” Anduin said, looking away and picking up the bowl.

“My claws are not little,” Wrathion grumbled, and he climbed to Anduin’s shoulders. “You ate… everything. My, little prince, gaining some weight are you?” The dragon nipped at Anduin’s ear and Anduin let out a yelp, swinging his arm to get the blasted dragon off of him. Wrathion, of course, dodged, flapping his little wings up in the air and doing his best impression of a smile. “Already sensitive about it too! Perhaps I should put you on a diet!”

Anduin groaned and tried to swat Wrathion out of the air, but the dragon was far too nimble. The Black Prince cackled, and a cloud of smoke surrounded the whelp before he stood in all of his jeweled, turbaned glory, even the tassels on his shoulders perfectly in place. Anduin must have been scowling, because Wrathion gave him a huge, pointy grin. “Up now! I’ll have Tong brew a special diet tea for you, and we need to look over those wounds!”

“Shut up with the ‘diet’, I’m not getting fat,” Anduin grumbled, and stood out of bed. He winced when he put his bad leg down, and of course Wrathion was right there handing him his cane. He grumbled a “thanks”, even as he tried to hold on to his irritation at the black dragon. It was hard, despite how annoying he could be. And he probably wasn't going to live the “fat” comment down.

When Wrathion escorted Anduin down the stairs, he felt only a slight tightness in his midsection, more like someone was stretching his skin rather than being gouged by a worgen only half a day ago. When Wrathion eased him into a chair to start pulling the bandages around his stomach apart, an uneasy feeling had settled in Anduin’s chest.

He was overreacting, that was it. That was all it—

“Did you use the Light last night?” Wrathion was holding Anduin’s bandages in one hand, and his red eyes had gone very wide. “These wounds, they’re… almost healed.”

Anduin looked down at himself, and felt bile rise in the back of his throat. The scars on his stomach—indeed, that was all they were now—looked weeks old. It wasn't possible. Anduin hesitated. “M-maybe, when I… helped the worgen…”

“Ah, yes.” Wrathion clicked his tongue. “Well, let’s replace these anyways and check your wrist.” When Wrathion went to catch Anduin’s wrist, he jerked it away.

“N-no! I mean, that’s… I already looked at it this morning.” Anduin tried for a smile. “It’s fine. It’s healing along nicely.”

Wrathion frowned, two of his fangs poking over his lips. “Yes, well… if you’re sure…” He snapped his fingers, and Tong came with fresh bandages. Wrathion’s claws brushed over Anduin’s skin as he re-bandaged him, and his brows were furrowed in concentration. “This rate of healing is still remarkable. The bandaging is just superfluous at this point. And your wrist is the same?”

“I, uh… yeah, it is.” Anduin offered a smile. “How’s the worgen doing?”

Wrathion’s gaze turned dark. “He’s recovering,” he said.

“I should go –“

“No!” Wrathion snapped. “You’re staying away from him!”

Anduin sighed, and tried to stand up. Wrathion’s claws pushed him back down. “Now you’re just being unreasonable about this,” Anduin hissed. “You burned half of that worgen’s back, I should—“

“No is _no_ , little prince,” Wrathion hissed. “He’s being healed by the best.”

“You know that I’m rather competent in what I do,” Anduin said. “Perhaps not the best, but I can help him.”

“And I don’t want you near him.” Wrathion stood. “And this is the end of the conversation. I have some things to attend to, prince, so if you’ll excuse me…”

It wasn't like Wrathion gave Anduin a chance before he spun on his heel and departed upstairs. Anduin sighed, and knew better than to follow the Black Prince. He’d probably burn his tabard if he did, and Anduin really did not want to pay for a new one.

He didn't realize that he was scratching at his wrist until he felt something rip, and looked down in somewhat abject horror to find that he had torn the bandage and had opened up the smaller of the marks, fresh blood trickling over his white skin.

Wiry, thick hairs now sprouted around the edges of the wound. Anduin grabbed the leftover gauze and double wrapped his wrist.

 _‘It’s nothing,’_ Anduin told himself. And he would continue to tell himself that, even as the wound still itched.

Anduin didn't see Wrathion until sunset. The Black Prince was busy for the entire day. Perhaps it worked out for the better, as it gave Anduin the entire day to head off the aggression of his royal guards. They wanted to know every little detail of what happened the previous night, and kept trying to drag Anduin back to Stormwind. Anduin answered enough to sate their curiosity, and hunched over enough to keep them convinced that moving him was still a bad idea. Thus, Anduin was allowed to stay for another night.

The spring was always relaxing, no matter what was going on in the Tavern. It was also empty, which was a rarity, and Anduin took advantage of it. He rolled up his pants to their knees and dipped his feet in the warm waters, his eyes half-lidded as he watched the rays of sun play over the green foliage of Pandaria.

It was enough to almost forget about the furious itching in his wrist. Anduin had put three layers of gauze over his wrist just to keep from ripping his wounds open. Not only did they itch, they _burned_. Did he get it infected? Maybe… it would explain why these wounds still hadn't closed properly, and why they seemed to bleed every now and then.

He was startled when a throat cleared behind him, and an all-too-familiar voice said, “Is this seat taken?”

Anduin could help but smile as he turned to look at Wrathion, and then all of his thoughts just… froze. It wasn't like this was the first time he had seen the Black Prince shirtless, but… it had been a while since he had. And it hadn't exactly been so… close.

The Black Prince had slim muscle and a defined abdomen. He wasn't overly muscled, but it was clear that the Black Prince took care of his body, as he did any other aspect of his life. This aspect just wasn't visible until he had removed all of his vestments.

Wrathion had set his turban aside too, so his curly locks of black hair were finally visible, if somewhat suffering from hat hair syndrome. He ran his claws through it, red eyes gleaming in mirth as his lips twitched into a crooked smile. “Well?”

Oh, crap. Anduin had just been _staring_ at Wrathion for the Light knew how long and the Black Prince noticed. Anduin quickly stared at his feet in the water as his cheeks burned. “N-no, of course not.”

“Good.” Wrathion brushed past him, slipping out of his pants and sash so he was only in his undergarments before he strode into the water. The scent of smoke and cinnamon hit Anduin and didn’t seem to stop. He almost became delirious from it before he shook his head and focused on the clean scent of water, rather than the Black Dragon’s overwhelming spice. Anduin couldn't remember ever being able to smell water before, but he shoved it aside.

“Why don’t you come in, Anduin?” Wrathion tilted his head to the side, one of his gold earrings dipping in the water.

Everything told Andiun that was a bad idea for many reasons. “N-no, I’m fine.” Anduin smiled sheepishly. “Besides, I, ah, only brought the one change of clothes…”

“Well get them wet! I’ll get Tong or someone to take care of them,” Wrathion said. Anduin shook his head.

“R-really, it’s fine. Maybe tomorrow.” Anduin paused, unsure of how to broach the subject. “So, uhm… busy day?”

Wrathion snorted, sinking further into the spa until his goatee sunk into it. “You could say that. Blocking all of the adventurers from entering the tavern has been very detrimental to my plans.”

Anduin rolled his eyes, kicking a little water in Wrathion’s direction. “I’m sorry that my presence inconveniences you so,” Anduin said, “but rest assured I’ll be out of your hair and you’ll be able to play king again.”

“Isn’t that what your father wants you to do?” Wrathion’s gaze slid over to Anduin. “Isn’t that why he keeps you in Stormwind?”

Anduin sighed. “I guess,” he mumbled. “It’s not something I really want to think about.”

“Why not?” Wrathion rested his chin on his claws. “It’s inevitable that you’ll become king, Anduin.”

“Why would I want to think about such a thing?” Anduin sighed. “It’ll mean that everything’s changed, and my father…”

“Oh you’re sooo _depressing_.” Wrathion groaned and leaned his head back. “Why don’t you think about all the change you’ll be able to make instead? And it’s not like it’s written that your father has to die, you know! He could just get bored of it. Personally, I’d much prefer to see you as a king than anyone else.”

Anduin smiled. “Was that a compliment, Wrathion?”

“My bad. I’d rather see you as king because I can _sooo_ easily manipulate you.” Wrathion’s pointy tooth grin spread across his face.

Anduin growled, and before he even really thought about it, he splashed into the water and tried to pull at Wrathion’s hair. Wrathion looked surprised, his eyebrows going straight up, but he had to laugh as the prince tried to pin him to the edge of the spa. “Looks like you got yourself wet after all, Prince Anduin! You’re only proving my point!”

Anduin snarled, and gripped Wrathion’s wrists to pin them to the side of the spa. Wrathion’s grin slipped off his face as the black dragon struggled against the priest’s grip, and he scowled. “Have you been working out, Anduin, or is this just another bonus of your recent gain in weight?”

Anduin, on one level, heard the words. On the other, he was ignoring them. Instead, he could feel Wrathion’s skin, smooth beneath his palms, and warm. His pulse fluttered, just like a bird’s, and Anduin watched as Wrathion’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. The indentation of skin just above his collarbone was so smooth, and unmarked… Anduin wanted to taste it. He wanted to bite it. He wanted to sink his teeth into it and hear what noises came out of the Black Prince’s plush lips. 

He wanted to _consume_ Wrathion.

“Anduin?” There was a waver of uncertainty in the black dragon’s voice. Worse, there was _pain_ , as much as the prince tried to hide it. “You’re being strange, get off me!”

Anduin snapped back to reality, and pulled away from Wrathion, waves lapping in the spa. His breath was coming hard, and fast, and he was far more aware of how night had begun to fall.

Wrathion rubbed at his wrists, and hissed. “What’s gotten into you, Anduin? And for the Light’s sake, get your nails trimmed once in a while!”

 _‘Nails? I’ve chewed mine off, I don’t have…’_ Anduin looked down at his hands. Curving, white nails emerged from each fingertip.

His heart started beating fast against his chest. Too fast and too hard. He clutched as his soaked tabard, sucking in his breath.

“Anduin!” Wrathion sounded far away. “Answer me!”

He had made a mistake. He had made a grave mistake. He should have listened to his instincts, he should have…

Anduin stared up at the sky.

The moon emerged, bright and full.

Anduin had made a grave error. He had enough presence of mind to scramble out of the spring before the pain began to constrict through him.

Wrathion had no bloody idea what was going on when the priest lept out of the water and scrambled a few feet away to dry heave on the grass. His irritation bristled as he approached Anduin’s shaking form. “What in the Light’s name did you do, did you get into opium or something—“

“ _GO AWAY!_ ” Anduin’s voice had a growl to it, something so animalistic as to make Wrathion freeze in his tracks. It… it almost sounded like…

Anduin let out a sound that was caught between a whine of pain and a snarl. Wrathion began to approach him, but the prince jerked away from him. “I… said… GO. AWAY.”

Anduin lurched, and Wrathion went to catch his shoulder when it began to morph. Anduin’s entire back bent so severely that Wrathion feared it to break… and before his eyes, Anduin’s jaws began to lengthen.

It was only then that Wrathion realized what was happening. All of Anduin’s odd behavior over the past day, the bandage around his wrist that he refused to take off… He knew the bite of a worgen was infectious. He knew this, and the dots were so obvious to connect now. Now, when it was too late, did he realize the fate that had befallen his friend.

Anduin howled in pain as the change began to overtake him. The wet sound of breaking bone echoed across the grass. White claws flashed and tore apart the blue-and-gold tabard of the Alliance, shredding the shirt beneath it, exposing patches of Anduin’s creamy white skin that began to grow fur, the same color as his hair, coarse and thick. Anduin’s jaws were locked in a silent scream from twisted vocal cords, each tooth elongating into a gleaming fang, his jaws pushing outward until a muzzle encapsulated his new teeth, until his blond hair had thickened and grew into a mane, until his ears lengthened into tapering points.

Claws gouged the earth beneath Anduin as the boy’s body broke again and again under its transformation. Pants ripped to accompany the heavy paws, the thickened calf and thigh, and the last remains of his shirt tore as muscle coiled through his chest and arms, letting the boy brace himself on four feet as the last vertebra in his back popped.

For a second, the worgen laid on the ground, pink tongue lolling out of its mouth as it panted, saliva dripping to the grass beneath it. The entire transformation must have only taken seconds, but to Wrathion it had been ages.

And then the worgen’s head lifted to stare at him. Blue eyes, once so full of mirth and joy, now only carried mindless hate. Hate and _hunger_.

The worgen howled at Wrathion, and launched for him. The only thing that saved Wrathion at that moment from meeting the white claws of his friend was the fact that the worgen still favored one of his hind legs, giving Wrathion just enough to dodge to the side, leaving the worgen to swipe at empty air.

A furious snarl escaped the worgen, and he rounded on Wrathion, digging one of its hands into the ground for purchase, the other raised as he tried to swipe at the black dragon.

“Anduin!” Wrathion’s voice cracked, and he snarled to himself, willing his voice still. “It’s me, it’s me you damned—“

 _Boom_! The thunderous sound of a gun going off drowned out the rest of Wrathion’s plea. A cry tore from the worgen as it staggered backwards, paws clasped over its ears as the sound must have reverberated in its hearing a thousand times more than Wrathion could dare to imagine.

Right was kneeling on the ground, the rifle cocked in her shoulder, steady eye on the worgen and finger on the trigger. She cursed as it was clear she didn't hit the beast, and began to shove more bullets into the gun as Left stood by, already cranking her crossbow back.

“DON’T SHOOT!” Wrathion’s voice was a shrill scream as he knocked into his two bodyguards. “It’s An—“

The worgen roared and charged, that hurting leg of his hardly a hindrance as it barreled into the Black Prince and knocked him to the ground. Claws ripped through Wrathion’s skin before he had a chance to raise his talons and swipe across the worgen’s face. Four bloody stripes appeared in the worgen’s blonde muzzle, and this only served to infuriate the beast. It snarled before its teeth snapped in the air, and a heavy paw wrapped around Wrathion’s throat. Stars began to dance in Wrathion’s vision as all he could see were rows of gleaming fangs.

A battlecry tore from Left’s throat as she launched, daggers drawn, and sunk them into the worgen’s shoulderblades. The beast snarled and wiped around, swiping and knocking the orc loose and onto the ground. Right ran to Left’s side and leveled her rifle again, and fired.

Wrathion tasted the gun powder in the back of his throat, and he thanked the Light that Right had missed at such a close range. The worgen still snarled and crouched on itself, blood now matting the golden fur on its back from the flowing wounds…

And then it fell upon its fours and ran, disappearing into the undergrowth.

Wrathion breathed hard as he began to sat up, and involuntarily hissed as pain laced through his chest. When he looked down, he saw bloody wounds, freshly bleeding all over his chest. But he was up, and that was what had mattered.

“LISTEN TO ME, DAMN YOU BOTH!” Wrathion’s claws snagged both Left and Right by the backs of their uniforms. “Do not shoot or injure that worgen, do you hear me?!”

Left and Right stared at Wrathion. “You’re delirious!” The orc was the first one to talk, with Right quickly chiming in with, “That beast nearly ripped you apart!”

“That worgen is Anduin,” Wrathion said, still unable to fully believe the truth in his words. “And if you so much as harm another hair on his head _I will throw you both over the cliff_. Do you understand?”

Left and Right fell into shocked silence. “That… that monster,” Right tried to say, but Wrathion was already up and morphed into his whelp form, rocketing through the Tavern.

“Anduin is no monster!” Wrathion snapped. “And I’ll prove it.”

The whelp flew up the stairs and straight into the open door of the Blacktalon worgen’s room.

Someone was going to answer for what had happened to his friend.

And Wrathion would get Anduin back, no matter the cost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND SO IT BEGINS. Hope you all enjoy this!


	4. Vicious Dog

Wrathion burst into the room, smoke coiling from his nostrils. He was _happy_ to see how much in pain the worgen was—now that he transformed back into his human form, his skin had taken on an ashy hue, and half of his back was red, raw flesh that even now still smelled like it was cooking.

_Good._ He wanted the worgen to suffer. So Wrathion felt no remorse when he let the fire build in his throat and shot a jet of it just across the worgen’s head.

The man gave a yelp as he ducked, slamming into the floor and shaking like the pitiful creature that he was. His fight or flight response must have triggered, because he transformed on the floor, adding the smell of burning fur back to the mix of smoke and smoldering flesh. He cowered, holding a clawed hand in front of his muzzle, his voice choked as he spoke in a quavering voice. “M-my prince!”

Wrathion snarled, and in a blink he had transformed, new clothes reformed on him, and most importantly, daggers buckled on his waist.

He drew one, swift and sure, and pressed it to the worgen’s throat, wrapping his free hand in the worgen’s mane and forcing the beast’s head back. It didn’t matter if the worgen was taller than him— _Wrathion_ was in control of this situation. _Wrathion_ was going to force all of the answers that he needed… and if he didn’t get them, he would skin this worgen and make a coat out of him.

The worgen whimpered and whined, ears pinned flat against its skull, great yellow eyes rolling in fear. “I-I… please…” The worgen tried to speak, but Wrathion pressed his dagger so tight into the worgen’s throat that he choked.

Smoke curled out of Wrathion’s nostrils and between his teeth, coating his mouth in ash as he spoke. “Do you realize what you have done, worgen?”

The worgen shook his head, still whining in fear. _‘Pathetic,’_ Wrathion thought. _‘A coward. A fool. So weak.’_

“Anduin Wrynn, your prince, has turned into one of you!” Wrathion snarled, his hand shaking on the handle of the dagger. “And that was because of your bite! Your _cursed, diseased_ teeth that sunk into his skin!” He didn’t think before he let his hand heat, let flames lick up the blade of the dagger and start to burn the fur that hung from the worgen’s chin. “You will help me _find_ him, you will _undo_ this curse, or I will _burn you alive_.”

“Prince Wrathion…” Right’s voice wavered, and Wrathion became aware of his bodyguards staring at him. Worse, he saw the fear in their eyes, something that reminded him of how close he could slip and become what he had fought against.

No. He was not a monster, anymore than Anduin was. He lowered the burning dagger and glared at the worgen. “Well? _Speak_!”

The worgen winced, like a kicked dog. “M-my liege,” he began, his voice a low whine, “if… if the prince has already turned… There’s no going back. He’s a worgen, and he’ll be one for the end of his days.”

Wrathion snarled, and with all of his strength threw the worgen to the ground, making sure to slam him on his back. He let out such a cry of pain as to pop Wrathion’s eardrums. Wrathion remained standing, watching as the worgen meekly shuffled to his feet, bowing his head to Wrathion, his muzzle grazing the tip of Wrathion’s boot.

“Start tracking him,” Wrathion snapped, “and _now_!” He turned on his heel, only narrowly avoiding kicking the worgen as he did so.

He ignored the looks of Right and Left. He ignored the way they watched him, as if he was a thing to be frightened of.

They knew what he was like. They knew that he would not tolerate such incompetence within the Blacktalons.

They knew what lengths he would go to protect his interests.

Wrathion was able to keep up with the worgen in his drake form (he refused to call himself a whelp), flying as fast as the worgen ran on fours. The Blacktalon had traced Anduin’s scent through the Valley of the Four Winds—the priest must have booked it down the stairs after their encounter. Wrathion tried to keep his anxieties to a small little knot that couldn’t touch his logic or his plans. Anduin wasn’t completely gone, there was still enough of him left not to attack innocents… Even if he had already attacked Wrathion. He had refused medical attention, wanting to find Anduin as soon as possible. The wounds didn’t bother him, and he was far more worried about Anduin and his current condition. Healing could happen at another time.

The direction they were heading in soon became apparent to Wrathion. His stomach dropped, as if he had fallen through the air. _‘No. No no no no. This is a mistake. The worgen’s wrong.’_

But the worgen had come to a stop and was sniffing the air. Left and Right, riding a wolf and horse respectively, halted just behind the worgen. The worgen lifted a clawed hand into the air, beckoning Wrathion down.

He still wished this was a mistake when he landed just on the edges of one of the biggest farms in the region, the market only just downwind. With a small twinge of pain he shifted, hands at his daggers as he watched the worgen sniff the sand. “He’s here?” Wrathion asked.

The worgen grunted, pointing to the pawprints in the freshly furrowed ground. “I can smell his blood,” he said. “And… fresh blood. Not from him.”

Wrathion’s stomach gave a sickening lurch. He quelled it, focusing instead on the prints in the soil, on Left and Right dismounting from their steeds. “You have the net ready?” He asked them.

They nodded, Left taking the net off the saddle. It was fitted with heavier weights, and the yarn was strengthened, slight improvisations that Wrathion had ordered just before they left. He only prayed it was enough to hold Anduin down.

The worgen had begun to advance into the thicker, wild parts of vegetation that still existed in patches in the Valley. Wrathion followed at the worgen’s heels, listening to the sounds of the fields… or what should have been the sounds. Ringing silence was all that he could hear instead, and the trickle of waterfalls from the distance.

Wrathion shivered, and still walked. This meant nothing. Anything would be scared of a rampaging worgen, and there would be no Pandaren out at this time of night…

“My prince!” The worgen’s voice cut through Wrathion’s thoughts. He was kneeling underneath a thick patch of foliage, leaves as thick and big as umbrellas, up against one of the giant trees. Wrathion caught up to him in several steps, and peered over the worgen’s shoulder.

The smell made Wrathion’s stomach watery. The sight was nothing new, but the fact that Anduin, little priest _Anduin_ had caused this was unfathomable. The crane’s neck had been ripped open so severely as to be flayed, the thin bits of muscle and skin and feathers clumped in blood peeled back to reveal the fleshy, red throat. The bird’s chest had been ripped open, as if the wishbone had been grabbed and pulled, revealing the dark lumps of muscle that must have served as the lungs smashed against the ribcage. The stomach had been torn open too, a pink balloon with green bile spilling onto the ground.

“He’s hungry,” the worgen said, and Wrathion didn’t miss the way the worgen’s red tongue flashed over his teeth. Wrathion pinched the base of the worgen’s ear with the points of his claws, and the worgen snarled, shaking his head before he stood.

“We should split up. Anduin will be searching for food, and he won’t be far—“ The worgen began, and didn’t finish that sentence.

A blood curdling scream broke the silence of the fields. The worgen sat there, but Wrathion was moving until the worgen overtook him in a blur of black fur, skidding to put himself between the threat and Wrathion while Right and Left flanked the prince on both sides.

The sight that confronted the Black Prince was too gruesome to behold, too horrifying in its implications. A pandaren, a female with red fur, laid prone on the ground, her jaws still working in a gurgled cry as blood leaked from her muzzle and stained the white fur along her jaw. Her weapon of defense, a rake, was shattered, sitting feet away from her. It was her torso, or what was left of it, that was the worst. Giant chunks of flesh had been ripped out, deep claw marks gorged the Pandaren’s fur, and shiny pink guts spilled around the ground.

The golden worgen _slurped_ and _snarled_ and _grunted_ as it feasted on the Pandaren’s open abdomen. Its back was hunched, the wounds that Right and Left had inflicted on its shoulders all but healed, and now fresh, crimson blood stained its fur. Its forearms were buried in the remains, jaws snapping as it pulled flesh away and swallowed. White claws continued to slice the corpse into manageable chunks, manipulate it to get at the best parts.

The Blacktalon worgen gave a growl, and the blonde worgen’s head shot up, ears pitched forward. It answered the growl with a louder one of its own, and got down on its fours, churning dirt with swipes of claws. Blood caked the light fur over its muzzle and stomach.

Wrathion tried to search the worgen’s blue eyes for a spark of recognition, a sign… and all he saw was hunger.

The worgens roared as they clashed, claws flashing, rolling in a black-and-gold blur on the ground. One pained yelp came from Anduin—by the Light even now the worgen’s voice still had a trace of the human he once was—and the Blacktalon worgen answered with a snarl of his own, before disengaging from the worgen with a vicious kick of his hind paws. The gold worgen slid back, snarling, and then its gaze fixed on Wrathion.

For one second, a fleeting second, Wrathion saw a hint of Anduin somewhere in that animalistic rage… And within a fraction of a second it’s gone again, and instead there’s a blur of yellow fur and the worgen slammed into Wrathion full-force, blood tipped claws sliding over the scales of his armor before they caught and ripped.

Wrathion had to shove all instinct away to blast the worgen across the jungle with flames, and instead curled his claws to cuff him in the side of his muzzle, the points of his claws just scraping the skin beneath. The worgen snarled, hardly buffeted by the hit, and then sunk its fangs deep into Wrathion’s forearm. The pain kept him silent.

A flash of black fur and the pressure was taken off his chest and arm, blood flowing fresh from the wounds. Wrathion scrambled upright, just in time to see the Blacktalon worgen with rope in its claws, a loop around the blonde worgen’s top jaw as it howled furiously.

“NOW!” Wrathion screamed, and Right and Left materialized beside him and threw the net over the golden worgen. The Blacktalon worgen had moved away enough that only Anduin was caught in the net, but he was having none of it. He snarled and thrashed, twisting himself further in the net, and it was then that Wrathion grabbed his dagger, approaching the beast that was Anduin.

He seized the worgen’s head with his claws, digging them into his golden fur, meeting the murderous blue gaze for a second before he brought the butt of his dagger down on the worgen’s head, just at the base of his skull. The yelp that escaped the worgen sounded like Anduin, but his eyes rolled up into his skull and he collapsed before the guilt could sink deeper into the black dragon.

Wrathion stood there, panting. The Blacktalon worgen approached him, shaking his head.

“He’s far gone,” the worgen said. “It’s like back in Gilneas. The curse… it enters you.”

Wrathion _flew_ at the worgen. He smashed him so hard in the side of his face that the worgen’s jaw clicked together and he too fell in a furred pile. Wrathion snarled, and spat at Left and Right. “Get them tied up and back to the Tavern! And let… let Anduin’s guards know what’s happened to him.”

A creeping numbness settled over Wrathion.

King Varian Wrynn’s son had turned into a worgen, and Wrathion would have to deliver the news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you all think Anduin was going to be a nice worgen? Oh, I sure hope not.
> 
> Enjoy, as always :D


	5. Imprisoned Dog

Pain. It echoed in his very bones. Pain, and _hunger._

Confused, dazed. Voices reach his ears, broken. He’s still hungry.

The worgen became dimly aware of the space around him. The dry scent of dead grass. Cold metal. An enclosure. The scents of two men, one of them worgen, the other human.

He snarled, and then threw himself against the bars. Curses answer him, and the figures back off.

“This is your son,” A voice said, a low timber in it. “See what he has become. See what _all_ Gilneans have faced.”

“Old man, I brought you down here so you could _save_ him, not so you could lecture me!” The second voice had a ring of familiarity that made the worgen confused for a second.

“Save him? You have little idea what you’re talking about, King Wrynn,” the timbered voice answers, and then something seized the worgen’s head and covered his muzzle. A viscous liquid, sweet and cloying, was dumped down his throat and the worgen splutters, to no use.

“You have such innocence,” that low timber said, and the worgen is lulled into blackness.

Wrathion, in his entire _life_ , did not think he would ever be arrested. Granted, his life has been short so far, and the possibility of him being arrested isn’t _entirely_ in the realm of wild speculation, but he still did _not_ think he would have to suffer the humiliation. And now, here he was, with thick metal manacles wrapped around his wrists and flanked by the most elite of the guards that Stormwind had to offer, and being forced to sit on a stone cold bench.

Left and Right weren’t any happier about the situation either. Right had shot her mouth off about how the King couldn’t just arrest humans willy-nilly, but the only thing that earned her was a tighter set of manacles. Left was glaring at everything and everyone, and occasionally shot a hate filled look in Wrathion’s direction. It didn’t matter that the Alliance and Horde were at a temporary cease fire, Left still had no trust for them, and now Wrathion had gone and led her into the center of the lion’s den.

It wasn’t like they really had a choice when it came to being arrested, however. By the time Wrathion had Left and Right drag the worgens back to the Tavern, Anduin’s guard was in an uproar. They figured that their prince had been eaten or something equally as absurd. When Wrathion explained that the prince had turned into a great hairy beastie instead, he was taken into custody and accused of lying.

At least he had managed to snatch a sleeping potion to pour over the blonde worgen so he didn’t wake up during their journey back to Stormwind. It was easy enough to sneak into his bandages as Right and Left were forced to treat his injuries in minutes as the royal guard ushered them along, and he had managed to slip it into his palm to break over the unconscious worgen’s head. It kept the worgen out for the time it took to get to a portal, but the moment that they had crossed over into Stormwind’s lake, the worgen was already starting to stir. He was rushed ahead of Wrathion and his guards, and that was several hours ago. And still no one had sent or asked after Wrathion since he had been manacled and sat on the stone bench with Left and Right on either side of him.

“This is disgraceful!” Wrathion hissed after he was certain his bottom had gone completely numb. “I have been sitting here for Light knows _how_ long after so _graciously_ delivering your precious prince back to you, and I _still_ haven’t been received by King Varian Wrynn! Is this how you treat guests?”

One of the guards, their face covered by a helmet, turned their visor toward him. “Shut up you little dragon,” they hissed. “You’re a prisoner, not a guest.”

“Oh, what, you think _I_ did that to Anduin?” Wrathion said. “Yes, because clearly I’m a worgen who can turn people. For Light’s sake I’m a bloody _dragon_ , what did that to your precious prince was a _worgen_ , and I damn sure hope you can tell the difference between the two! Now where the hell is King Varian Wrynn?”

“Right here,” a voice boomed, and every guard stood as if steel poles had replaced their spines. Wrathion was bored at the display, and watched King Varian Wrynn stride to attention with all the gait and power that was afforded to him as the king. The plate armor only cut his figure to be even more intimidating.

The man came to a stop in front of Wrathion, glowering down at him over the bridge of his nose, forcing Wrathion to look up. The black dragon bristled at being treated this way, but tried to keep his temper cool. “Afternoon, King Varian,” Wrathion said. “How’s Anduin doing?”

As soon as Wrathion let the words slip out of his mouth, he knew he had made a mistake. Varian’s eyes blazed and he seized Wrathion by the front of his tabard, lifting the black dragon off the bench and letting his feet dangle in the air. Left and Right lurched in his peripheral vision, but were held back by the guards.

“My son… is none of your concern,” Varian said, and for a moment Wrathion could see why people feared and respected this man so. His blue eyes threatened to expose Wrathion’s very soul, and the anger that he held only brimmed the surface.

“He is, actually,” Wrathion said, keeping his voice as level as he could, “seeing as how I brought him here where no one else was prepared to believe me, including your little guard.”

Varian’s gaze hardened like ice, and for a fleeting second Wrathion though that Varian’s hand would wrap around his neck… until a voice, thick with an accent and a low timber, echoed through the halls.

“I see you aren’t taking the news well at all, Varian.”

King Greymane (or was that former king?) of Gilneas, leader of the worgen, strode into the room in his vest and cloak, looking as if he had only just come from the former kingdom in all its glory. His hair and beard had gone silver in his age, but that did not deter from the impressive nature of the man, and the beast that he just concealed. His eyes glowed like a wolf’s in certain lights, and flashed as he looked between the Alliance leader and the black dragon in his grip.

Varian’s features became a mask, and he let go of the dragon. Wrathion just avoided landing on his ass, and adjusted the manacles so they weren’t biting into his skin. Now he was going to have to sit here like a child awaiting his punishment as the two men had their pissing contest. It was clear that King Greymane hadn’t taken too well to having to answer to someone else, but there was another note of hostility between them.

Wrathion leaned to listen in, but Left distracted him with a sharp nudge of her green elbow. Wrathion scowled at her. “Yes?”

Left spoke in Orcish. “What are we doing here?”

Wrathion glanced to Varian and Greymane, but they had already begun a heated conversation, stepping away from the Black Prince to hold it. He could listen in, if Left wasn’t hissing in his ear. So he responded in kind, using her native tongue. “We were arrested after delivering Anduin, come on now Left, did you fall asleep sometime during this _riveting_ night?” It was practically morning now.

Left grunted, jutting her jaw forward. “Why are we still waiting after Anduin? You have plans, Black Prince. What is one human to them?”

Wrathion blinked at this statement. A very, very small part of him whispered in his ear that she was right; he had already bled for this prince, wasn’t it enough? How much further was he going to stall his own plans for a mortal?

And then he shook his head and glared at Left. “This ‘one human’ is the _Prince_ of the entire Alliance. You’ll see him become king in your lifetime if you’re lucky, and he’ll certainly become king in mine, so tell me, do you _really_ think that leaving the prince to become some slobbering beast is in _any_ of our best interests?”

Left blinked at Wrathion, cowed by his speech, and looked away with a huff. “Still think this is a waste of time,” she said tersely.

“Thanks for letting me know of your concerns, they’ve been noted and discarded,” Wrathion said in a dry voice. When Right looked between them (the girl had a really hard time with Orcish, no matter the lessons her and Left had), Wrathion just waved his hand in an indication that the issue was of no consequence. Because it wasn’t. How dare Left question him.

It was a good thing that the discussion had come to a close, because Greymane and Varian were approaching Wrathion. Wrathion looked up, trying to get as much regality as he could muster.

“You want to see your friend, do you not?” Greymane asked. Wrathion slid his gaze to Varian, and then nodded at the old worgen king. “He’s in the stockades.”

“I don’t trust the black dragon there,” Varian said. “It was probably him who got Anduin into this predicament to begin with.”

“The black dragon _saved_ your son from being killed by the pandaren,” Greymane said coolly. “And Anduin will want to talk, now that he’s awake. Send him there, Varian.”

“You don’t tell me what to do,” Varian said, glowering.

“When it comes to worgen, I do,” Greymane replied. A moment of tension held between Varian and Genn before the worgen king looked to Wrathion. “Go see him, whelp.”

“Black Prince to you,” Wrathion said, and sat up. His hands bowed with the manacles. “And these…?”

Varian sighed, and gestured to the guards. One of them stepped forward and used a silver key to unlock the manacles. They fell from Wrathion’s wrists and he rubbed at them, letting out a sigh.

“ _Thank_ you,” Wrathion said with no sincerity, and as soon as Right and Left had received the same treatment, he ordered them with a flick of his wrist to follow. Wrathion didn’t need to know where the stockades were, exactly, as he could track Anduin’s scent. And he didn’t want to ask for directions.

When Anduin woke, he was cold, shivering in the darkness, his pants the only clothing remaining on his grime covered body. He was also hungry. And confused. He tried to sort out all of his tangled thoughts, his aching muscles, and settled on locating some water for his dry throat.

He stumbled on the hay, and the moment that he moved every single muscle in him twinged in pain. Anduin’s scream was silenced from his cracking throat. How did he hurt so much? His leg smarted even worse than he could have thought, but every other bone in his body nearly matched it.

Something came to him. A brief flicker of memory— of crashing through green foliage, intent on the hunt…

Something sickly dropped into Anduin’s stomach. He touched his lips, and pulled his fingers away.

They were red with blood.

Anduin’s stomach roiled and pitched like he was on a ship. He curled into the hay and coughed, watching pink spittle stain the hay.

No, no, it was a nightmare, that was all it was. It was a horrific nightmare that was influenced by the Sha and…

Anduin dared to look down at himself. His entire bare chest was slick with blood. He backed away in shock, and his wrist throbbed.

_‘No...’_ Anduin looked at his wrist.

Four marks that marred his skin with thick, wiry hairs. It was no nightmare. It was reality.

Anduin had turned, and now he was in some dank prison, covered in blood, and something deep inside of him had irrevocably changed.

He was a worgen, and he could only pray that he hadn’t hurt anyone during his transformation.

Praying. The Light would heal some of his wounds… Anduin bent his head low, and began to mutter hymns. He waited for the warmth of the Light to fill him, soothe his twisted thoughts, give him direction and guidance when he so desperately needed it…

And nothing. All that reached Anduin was the deep dank atmosphere of the cell. Anduin’s stomach dropped, and he poured his focus into reaching the Light, in feeling its comfort, in his hymns until tears rolled down his face and he tasted the salt of them…

But there was no Light. Only silence and coldness answered him.

The ball of despair in Anduin threatened to choke him. His sobs were strained from his dry throat, and he wrapped his hands around his neck to silence them. Tremors rippled through his body until the only thing he could do was curl up in the hay and weep like a child.

The Light was _gone_. He felt an aching, yawning emptiness where it had once been. He was, truly, beyond redemption.

“Anduin?”

The voice penetrated his sorrow, and it took him moments to realize who it was. _‘Wrathion?’_

“Anduin? I can’t believe they actually locked you down here… Ah, Right and Left, you two stay there. Yes, I’ll be perfectly fine.” The Black Prince’s voice was light and airy, but Anduin heard the tremor that was undetectable to all but him. When he emerged in front of Anduin’s cell, Anduin felt his eyes brim with tears again. He could barely see Wrathion through them, but he was there, a small break from Anduin’s nightmare.

“Now now, you look like a _wreck_ ,” Wrathion chided, black talons wrapping around the bars. “This is no way to host your betters--“

Anduin gripped the Black Prince’s tabard and pulled him against the bars until he felt the dragon’s warmth against his skin. He sobbed, delirious in his sorrow, clutching the black dragon like one would their torch in the darkness.

“Wrathion,” Anduin’s voice was a broken, hoarse echo. “You’re here, you’re _here_ , I… I thought I was gone. I thought I was _lost_.”

There was a long, ringing moment of silence, and then claws slipped through Anduin’s hair. “Now, why would I let you get lost?” Wrathion’s voice was soft. “You’re too important to have you running off…”

Anduin sobbed again through gritted teeth, trying to focus on the black dragon’s talons weaving through his hair, on the warmth that radiated from him, but this nightmare, this horrid nightmare was real. He finally looked up at the black dragon, saw the red eyes that were regarding him with pity. Desperate to clean himself up, Anduin ran an arm across his face, and stopped cold at the blood.

“Wrathion… what did I do?” Anduin gulped, staring at the black dragon. “I… I don’t remember…”

The Black Prince’s expression became clouded, and then carefully blank. Crafted. His claws slipped out of Anduin’s hair. “You turned and went feral,” he said, concealing any tone and inflection from his voice. “And you ran into the bush. We caught you in the Valley.”

Anduin searched the Black Prince’s face, and bile rose in the back of his throat. _‘He’s lying,’_ a vicious voice whispered in the back of his thoughts. _‘He’s protecting you, his little prince. You’ve done something and he doesn’t want to share.’_

Anduin drew back from the bars. A scent permeated his nose beyond the smoke-and-cinnamon of the dragon, beyond the dried piss of the stockades and the blood on his skin; it was sterilized and clean, like gauze.

Before Wrathion had a chance to back away, Anduin’s hand shot between the bars and grabbed the black dragon’s sleeve. His nails (nails, more like claws, but Anduin shoved it out of his mind) caught the edge of Wrathion’s glove and pulled it off as the dragon snarled in protest.

Anduin flung the glove into the dark recesses of the cell, keeping a vice grip on Wrathion’s forearm. Thick, white gauze, stained brown with drying blood, was exposed on Wrathion’s wrist, and disappeared into his sleeve.

Wrathion yanked his arm from Anduin’s grip as the cold shock settled over the priest. “I can’t believe—my glove, Anduin—“

“I did this.” Anduin’s voice was hollow, but he felt the truth in his words, the way the beast inside of him stirred. “I… did this… to you.”

“You did not, Anduin, calm down! I told you, all you did was went running like some wild dog chasing a cat.” Wrathion’s voice exuded confidence that at one time might have fooled Anduin, but now he could see through the darkness as clearly as the daylight and saw how Wrathion was not looking _right_ at his face but toward the side; he could smell the perspiration that began to dot Wrathion’s skin underneath his clothes, and Anduin knew, knew with a certainty that he wished was false that Wrathion was lying.

“TELL ME!” Anduin launched at the bars, curling his fingers around them, his weak body already filling with strength as he drew on the rage, the rage that had never before been so accessible, been so _close_ to him, like an old friend. Wrathion had fallen back from the bars, and there was surprise in his red eyes. Anduin grimaced, reached through the bars to seize the front of Wrathion’s tabard, scraping his long nails against it as he _snarled_. “TELL ME!”

“I would not recommend antagonizing him anymore Black Prince.” That low timber made Anduin look up, and King Genn Greymane was walking toward them, arms folded behind his back, his blue eyes flashing in the gloom like a predatory animal’s. “The potion I gave him only grants him a temporary grasp of control… something that can easily slip if his emotions run too rampart.”

“Are you suggesting _I_ was aggravating him?” Wrathion snapped, getting up and brushing himself off.

“Yes, I am. Step aside, Black Prince.”

Wrathion growled, and didn’t have much of a chance to obey that command before the worgen king shoved him aside, and Anduin was confronted with his piercing gaze. Before he had a chance to speak, the king’s rough hand seized his lower jaw in a tight grip, and his thumb pushed aside Anduin’s upper lip, jabbed against a tooth. Greymane shook his head, and let go of Anduin.

“You’re already trying to sprout fangs, boy,” Greymane said, his voice rumbling like a growl. “You had best get your emotions under control if you wish to see the other side of those bars.”

Anduin felt a hot flash of rage, his fingers curling as he glared at Greymane. How long had _he_ hid in his own palace and potions before finally becoming a king to his people? How _dare_ he treat Anduin this way—and then another voice snapped Anduin out of his anger.

“Genn Greymane, I don’t care if you command an entire race of giants, you talk that way to my son again and I’ll have you eating all your meals with a spoon!”

Anduin’s heart rose to his throat as he pressed against the bars, trying to squirm his way out of them. “Father!”

Varian Wrynn, King of the Alliance, knelt in the dirt outside of Anduin’s call and unlocked it swiftly before grabbing Anduin and pulling him into his chest in a crushing embrace. Anduin felt tears brimming over in his eyes again, drinking in the scent of his father, hooking his fingers into the familiar grooves of his plate. “Father… I…”

“My son, it’ll be okay,” Varian said. “I promise.” He pulled away, and tried to smile for Anduin.

There was no mistaking how his gaze lingered on the blood that coated Anduin. Varian hesitated, and Anduin saw how his jaw worked as he tried to form words.

Genn Greymane cleared his throat. Anduin and Varian looked up at him, though Anduin didn’t miss the tension that was drawn in Varian’s shoulders. He never thought that his father and the King of Gilneas would be on bad terms, but Anduin hadn’t talked to his father lately about any sort of internal politics. Now, he wished he had.

Greymane tossed a set of clothes to Anduin, which he caught with something of a fumble. “Get yourself cleaned,” the Gilnean king rumbled. “All of us need to talk.”


	6. Despairing Dog

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to figure out a title for this chapter was a nightmare. It was going to be called "No Name Dog" for a while until I finally figured out something. Never do naming themes for chapters though, I swear...
> 
> Also, emetophobia warning in this chapter. Skip between Anduin's thoughts to avoid the worst of it. I will warn you that as the fanfic progresses, this sort of incident will happen more than once.
> 
> And yes, I bend lore a bit.

Wrathion felt like pointing out the injustice in the way he had been treated, but his mind was far too distracted by what he had just witnessed with Anduin. And not the tearful reunion of father and son.

When Anduin had _demanded_ to know the truth behind the Black Prince’s wounds, Wrathion saw the beast within Anduin; the boy’s nails lengthened into claws, his teeth began to elongate, all before Wrathion’s eyes. He tried to tell himself that it was just a trick of the darkness, but Greymane had confirmed Wrathion’s suspicions when he examined Anduin through the bars, remarking on the boy’s slipping control.

The situation was all far more delicate than Wrathion had ever planned. And to see Anduin, of all people, begin to succumb to the darker nature of the curse…

At least Anduin didn’t know the full extent of what he had done. He may have seen through Wrathion’s first lie, but Wrathion would sooner cut his tongue out than drain the last of his friend’s hope by telling him that he had killed another sapient creature. Anduin’s hope, while sometimes aggravating beyond belief, was also… refreshing. Wrathion could not, would not, be responsible for crushing it. He saw now that doing so would only break Anduin as a person.

Friends didn’t do that. Wrathion was still learning the meaning of the word, but after watching champions help each-other out, even reaching across faction lines to do so, he felt that he understood part of it… the part that wanted to protect. He wanted to protect Azeroth from the Burning Legion. He wanted to protect Anduin.

He just never thought he’d have to protect Anduin from himself.

“Wrathion,” Genn Greymane’s voice snapped Wrathion out of his thoughts. Wrathion bristled, still indignant at the way he had been treated, until his irritation quelled at what Greymane said. “You, Varian and I need to have a discussion, before Anduin comes back from his room.”

Wrathion swallowed, and followed the men back out of the stockades and into the palace. Left and Right, ever mute, fell in beside him.

Anduin had been sent up to his room with the orders to clean up and get dressed, by _Greymane_ , not his father. It was after he walked out of the cells that he realized where he had been, the Stormwind Stockades, and easily found his way back to the palace and up to his room, despite the pain that beat in his leg.

He was still bothered by the growing animosity between Varian and Greymane. Was it because of him, cursed now as he was? Or was it something else, something that Anduin had never looked into because he had been too busy with Pandaria? Greymane and Varian were cut almost from the same cloth: proud warriors who would go to any lengths to defend their people. Varian had disappeared doing just that, and Greymane bore the curse of the Gilneans with pride and control, even in the crushing grief of the death of his son.

Bu t there was something that put the two kings on edge with each-other, despite Greymane taking residence in the Stormwind castle. Anduin just wished he knew what.

He also wished that this entire thing was still a nightmare, but everything was far too real. He was a worgen, and if it wasn’t for Greymane, he’d still be out of control. The fact that he was a human once more was… promising, but he knew, all too temporary.

He scrubbed the dirt and blood off his skin and changed into the clean clothes. It was a simple outfit of brown trousers and a white cotton shirt, and Anduin decided not to grab his princely adornments, for once. He began to descend down the stairs when his ears twitched; Wrathion’s voice. Anduin sucked in his breath and crouched in the stairwell. Normally, the walls in the castle were too thick to catch any amount of conversation, but… he supposed he was no longer a normal human.

“… of the Wind. He ran after Left and Right chased him from the spring, and I had to call on one of my own worgen to track him.”

A grunt, from Greymane. “What happened after you caught hold of his tracks?”

“We found a dead crane. My Blacktalon confirmed that it was Anduin’s doing; the bird had been partially devoured. And then…” There was a ringing silence. “We heard a scream.”

Varian cursed; Greymane cut through the king. “And?”

“By the time we got there, we were too late. Andu—the worgen he had become had already… killed a pandaren. It gave us enough distraction that he—it didn’t hear us until we were upon it, and…”

Wrathion’s voice faded in the buzzing that began to fill Anduin’s head. His stomach twisted and churned, and his thoughts collided with one another.

_‘I killed. I killed I killed I killed…’_

Anduin became sick, vomiting on the stairs, holding in his stomach as red-and-pink bile escaped him. _Flesh. It was flesh. He had consumed flesh._

Anduin’s stomach kept heaving until there was nothing left, and he sat on the stairs and felt tears once again gather in his eyes.

_‘I am a monster. I am_ truly _a monster. I killed. I killed, and Wrathion lied about it. My own father knows the truth. Greymane knows the truth. There’s nothing to be done for me. Now I understand why the Light has left me… it would never bless a murderer.’_

It didn’t matter that Anduin had no recollection of the event; the way the _beast_ inside of him felt was all the confirmation he needed. He shook and held himself, recalling now all the stories he had heard about worgen who had killed their friends, their lovers, their children in the throes of the curse.

Anduin was no better. The Blacktalon was right; there was no cure for this. He was a monster. No amount of repentance would save that.

He wanted to lock himself up in his room. Anduin got up shakily to do so, bracing himself hard against the wall, but he didn’t count on the fact that he was not the only worgen in the castle.

“Stop,” Greymane commanded. “Anduin is coming down the stairs. Let me go fetch him.”

“Old man—“

“Varian Wrynn, we will settle our differences _later_.” Greymane’s voice took on that beastly edge. “You are not equipped to deal with a worgen in the first throes of the curse. And until you are, _I_ will see to Anduin.”

Footsteps. Anduin tried to scramble back up the stairs, but Greymane appeared like a wolf slipping out of the shadows of the woods. His blue eyes regarded Anduin, sizing him up… and then darted to the sickness on the floor. Greymane sighed.

“Already throwing up? At least your body is trying to purge itself.”

Anduin said nothing, staring at the floor.

There was a long moment of silence before Greymane knelt in front of Anduin, gripping his jaw again, forcing Anduin to meet his gaze.

“No one said this would be easy,” Greymane said in an even voice. “You have only had a taste of the suffering the Gilneans have gone through. You are no longer human, and you never will be. Erase any thoughts that you might be entertaining of ‘excising’ the beast from you. You are one of us.”

Anduin felt tears in his eyes again, that pit of hopelessness that he wanted to crawl into. He tried to jerk out of the worgen king’s grip, but Greymane had a fast hold on him.

“It has taken me years to accept what I have done.” The weight in Greymane’s voice made Anduin look up at him. “I brought the curse upon my own people. I tried to protect them from the Scourge, and in doing so destroyed what I sought to save. I created monsters. But they have risen up, beyond what the beast wants from us. The curse is something that can be controlled. You may never have the normal human life you wished… but you will understand, more precisely than anyone, what the precious nature of that life _is_. The beast will protect you, and you will protect the beast. You will understand the ways of people, the ways of nature, second only to the druids.” Greymane let go of Anduin and rose. “Now come, Anduin Wrynn, Prince of Stormwind. We have much to discuss.”

Wrathion was almost on his toes as he tried to listen in to whatever conversation Greymane and Anduin were undoubtedly having. But Greymane knew too well about the advanced hearing of other races, and Wrathion couldn’t catch a word. He huffed and leaned back on his heels. Soon enough, Greymane and Anduin came down the stairs.

Anduin looked _horrible_. His skin was pale enough to match his shirt, his hair was a tangled, knotted mess, and there was a tinge to his lips and he refused to look up. Wrathion wanted to say something, but was at a loss for words, and Greymane was speaking before he could cobble something up.

“Anduin Wrynn will have his sanity, so long as he drinks the potions that my master alchemist Kennan brewed during the Cataclysm.” Greymane took out a pouch from his vest. “And these are all the potions that are left.”

Wrathion spluttered, and then narrowed his eyes. “How irresponsible! You have an _entire_ race of infectious worgen at your control, and you never prepared to deal with the eventuality of the curse _spreading_?”

“ _Every single worgen_ has been put in control of their curse,” Greymane said sharply. “That adventurer worgen, as you so claim, was influenced by the Sha. No sane worgen would deliberately infect another. There was no need to keep manufacturing it…” Greymane’s gaze drifted to one of the stained glass windows. “And it was near impossible to do so.”

“W-why?” Anduin’s voice cracked sharply as he spoke.

Greymane looked at them. “Because the ingredients for that potion reside _only_ in Gilneas. When we left during the Cataclysm, not many of us were planning for a hypothetical future that might involve the curse continuing to spread despite the work of the druids. We were more concerned with getting out _alive_.”

Varian crossed his arms over his chest. Wrathion had felt the animosity simmering between both of them during the entire time they had been there, but had no idea what to truly make of it. He’d have to ask Anduin about it later.

“What does this mean for my _son_?” Varian’s voice was a warrior’s growl. “Are you saying he’s _doomed_?”

“No,” Greymane said. “The opposite. The only hope your son has of overcoming his curse is if he travels to Gilneas.” He looked between the three of them. “The means to overcome the curse, the ingredients for the potion, and the ritual of control are all still sitting within the ruins of my kingdom.”

Wrathion let out an annoyed sound before he could stop himself, running a clawed hand over his face. “Are you saying that _everything_ we need for Anduin is back in that Light-forsaken pile of rubble? Did _none_ of you think this through?”

“We were running for our lives,” Greymane said. “We were concerned with not becoming experiments for the Forsaken.”

“And… this is the only chance I have?” Anduin asked. To his horror, Greymane nodded.

“There is enough of the potion in this pouch to get you to Gilneas,” Greymane said. “Once there, however, you’ll have to fight through the remains of the cursed denizens, the worgen who are too far gone, and any Forsaken that Sylvanas has sent to try to keep Gilneas in her control.” Greymane pressed the pouch into Anduin’s hands. “In the forests will be your hope. If you can complete the ritual, you _will_ overcome the beast.”

“The night elves were the ones that created that ritual in the first place,” Varian said, glaring at Greymane. “Why can’t we just bring him to the druids?”

“Do you _want_ the night elves, some of whom are already chafing under your rule, to know about your son becoming a worgen?” Greymane growled. “Not every night elf is thrilled with you, _King_ Varian. Your dissenters would leap upon the information. And even if that were possible… it’s the location that was created for the ritual that is as important as the ritual itself. The worgen were unleashed in Gilneas. The end of Anduin’s suffering must occur at the start of it.”

Varian grunted, though he hardly looked happy about this. “He’ll need an escort,” Varian said. “An army. I’ll send—“

“Are you _daft_?” Wrathion couldn’t help his exclamation this time. “You just arranged a cease fire with the Horde and now you’re going to march into _contested_ territory with an entire _army_? How do you think the Horde will react? If you wanted to continue war, King Varian, that would be an _excellent_ pathway to do so and provoke attacks on recovering Alliance cities!”

“The whelp’s right,” Greymane said. “Marching an entire army will only bring the Horde’s attentions back to war, not to mention attract the attention of every remaining worgen. No. This needs to be done quickly and silently.”

Varian stared at Greymane. “I will go,” he said. “And you will come too.”

Wrathion snarled again, smoke spilling from between his teeth. He didn’t miss the way Anduin’s eyes widened slightly at the black dragon’s brazen anger at the leaders of the Alliance. “Now that’s a _perfect_ way to start rumors! Let _two_ of the leaders of the Alliance, including the _bloody king himself_ go gallivanting off to contested territory! All of you are _idiots_! I’d almost say you are trying to get Anduin kidnapped, or _worse_ in your efforts to protect him!” Wrathion hesitated, and he wasn’t sure what made him say the next words. “ _I_ will escort Anduin to Gilneas. I have Left and Right with me. We can move almost undetected, and in all the attempts on my life that have been made so far, none of them have succeeded because of those two. Any worgen or Forsaken who gets close to us will meet a sure end.”

Anduin was gaping at Wrathion, and Wrathion felt a surge of pride. Perhaps this was what heroes felt in all those silly books.

Of course, that feeling was dashed as soon as Varian snarled. “ _You_? You got Anduin into this mess in the first place!”

“Dad, it wasn’t his fault,” Anduin pleaded. “If it wasn’t for him I’d be—”

“Both of you!” Greymane’s voice rose. “I agree… that Anduin’s best chance is with Wrathion and his Blacktalons. But, only worgen know of the ritual and the places in Gilneas.” He paused. “I will send one of my own that I trust. Gavin Marlsbury is a worgen as loyal to the Alliance as any human, and a damned good fighter. Between him, and the Blacktalon agents, they should be able to escort Anduin safely… and brew any more potions that might be needed.”

Varian’s brow furrowed as he tried to search for any holes in the plan, and found none. He rubbed his forehead, and sighed. “How quickly will he be able to leave?”

“In hours,” Greymane said. “I will make the proper arrangements.” He turned, and swept out of the room.

Wrathion tried to catch Anduin’s gaze, but Anduin was still staring at the floor. He muttered some excuse before also leaving. This left Wrathion alone with Varian.

Varian looked down at him, placing a hand on the hilt of his sword. “Let me make this _clear_ ,” he said. “You are already treading on thin ice for what you did to Anduin, however indirectly. Now… you come back with him, free of this curse… or you don’t come back at all. Understood?”

Wrathion smiled his sharp toothed grin. “Perfectly.”


	7. Hypocrite Dog

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, if you decide to include an NPC in your story, pick an NPC that you can actually bloody see. Gods be damned picking Gavin Marlsbury was NOT one of my brighter ideas! Do NOT do what I have done, okay? Okay. Good. Now happy reading!

Gavin Marlsbury was _not_ the image of the “trusted, damned good fighter” that Wrathion had already fixated in his mind. What he was was _terribly_ Gilnean, to the point that he nearly reeked of it. He was also a worgen, as was promised, but Wrathion wished that Greymane had the good sense to tell the man to be human when he was brought into the throne room of Stormwind castle.

Marlsbury strode into the room on claws that clicked against the stone, his fur so grey that it had gained a blue tinge. His lower sets of fangs curved outwards from his muzzle in a way that reminded Wrathion of boar’s tusks, and he wore very fancy leather armor, black with crimson edges. Long braids of his fur hung just behind his ears, and his mane was long but kept. The top hat just made what might have been an intimidating worgen the slightest bit comical, until the predatory gleam in his yellow eyes was caught, and the impressive daggers on either side, the skulls in their hilts winking at Wrathion. He swept into the room and kneeled before the King of Stormwind. “My sire,” Gavin said. “It is truly an honor.” He grinned, and of course it looked wolfish.

Wrathion tore his gaze away from the sight and looked to Anduin. Anduin was staring at the worgen and all but quaking in his boots. Wrathion knew it was a bad idea to have any worgen in their natural form around the prince in his… condition. Wrathion once again wanted to say something, but did not want to break the boy’s already fragile state in order to do so… so he remained silent.

“Varian Wrynn, may I present Gavin Marlsbury,” Greymane said as he followed after the worgen. “A great tracker, and an even more excellent worgen.”

Varian grunted, his steely gaze on the kneeling worgen. After a moment, he drew his sword, and rested it on the worgen’s shoulder. To Gavin’s credit, he didn’t flinch. “Do you swear to protect Prince Anduin with your life?”

“As if he was my own pup,” Gavin rumbled. He looked up at Varian from the brim of his hat.

There was a long moment of silence before Varian nodded. “Rise, then.” Gavin Marlsbury did so, before turning with a flourish and bowing deeply to Anduin.

“It will be an honor to help you through your curse,” Gavin said. A grin spread over his muzzle. “Perhaps I can see yours now that you’ve seen mine.”

“Gavin,” Greymane snapped, and the worgen looked at him. His ears twitched, and he bowed once again to Anduin before turning to walk out. Midway through, the very shadows coalesced around him, and he disappeared before their eyes. 

“The carriage has already been set up for the prince and his escorts,” Greymane continued even though everyone was still staring at the spot where Gavin had once been. “I would recommend not drawing out any farewells.” He glanced at Anduin, and said only, “Remember what I told you” before he too began to stride out of the room. “I’ll give you a moment.”

Wrathion hesitated, realizing that this too included himself. He sighed, making sure to spread his annoyance to all before he took his own leave, following in Gavin’s steps. Left and Right followed after him, as always.

Anduin and his father were alone in the throne room. It was actually a rarity—normally there were nobles or adventurers walking in and out, or any number of people. For it to be devoid of people was almost… unnerving. It just went to show that this situation was nowhere near ordinary.

And still Anduin could not meet Varian’s gaze. The flood of shock still had yet to stop, and his mind was on repeat. Greymane’s words had been more or less shoved to the back of his mind… so when Varian approached him and rested a heavy hand on his shoulder, Anduin flinched. He caught his father’s frown from the corner of his eyes, but didn’t dare to look at him.

“Son,” Varian started, “this… will not be easy. But… I believe in you.” He smiled, conveying nothing but warmth, no hint that he had just listened to the fact that his son was a murderer. “You have faced challenges that few have known. This is only another step in your journey.” He squeezed Anduin’s shoulder, and knelt down to look at him.

“I love you, and I always will, no matter what,” Varian said. Anduin felt his throat constrict painfully tight. “Now please, be safe. Do not take any unnecessary risks. And… I know Wrathion is your friend, but… be careful around him too.”

“I—I will,” Anduin tried a smile. Varian crushed him in his embrace, and let go of him.

“You had best get going,” Varian said. “Oh, but… before you do…” He walked to the throne, and extracted something behind it; a cane, made out of what looked to be gold, but when Anduin took it he found it to be light and sturdy, not flimsy in the least. A lion’s head topped it, adorned with sapphire eyes.

“Just in case,” Varian said, and this time, Anduin _could_ smile for him.

Wrathion was still walking, tracking the worgen’s scent when Left and Right seized him by his shoulders and drug him into the shadows so abruptly that he didn’t have a chance to growl at them before he was confronted with their scowling visages. “What do you want _now_?” Wrathion hissed irritably.

“My prince, you are being stupid,” Left snapped, and Right nodded.

Wrathion rolled his eyes. “We went _over_ this. If you need a recap you should have picked up a gnomish invention to record my voice because I am so _very_ tired of repeating myself!” He started to stride away, but his Blacktalons guards had quite the grip on him. He growled, smoke starting to spill from his lips. “Left, Right…”

“We are going in the middle of contested territory,” Right began, “filled with worgen and Forsaken… and if any of the Forsaken see you… your plans are _gone_. All for Anduin Wrynn.”

Wrathion hesitated. His mind was already weaving thousands of reasons for them to continue, until that little voice in him hissed that he was growing soft over _one_ mortal, one mortal in his plans that involved the fate of all the races on Azeroth.

“Those plans cannot be completed if the Alliance looses their prince,” Wrathion said evenly. “Every champion has seen Anduin and I conversing together. Anduin has even made some of them see his idea of ‘peace’, as far-fetched as it is. But it’s progress in a direction that I need… that _Azeroth_ needs. If I lose Anduin, I lose the trust of the Alliance, and Varian will send his forces to attack _me_ as part of a pithy scheme of vengeance.” Wrathion paused, studying his guards. “We lose if we don’t help him. Now, this is the _last_ time either of you get to question my orders. Understood?”

After a long pause, they nodded.

“Good. Now let’s go find that eccentric worgen before he runs off without us.” Wrathion stepped out of the shadows, and ignored that tiny little voice still trying to chip away in the back of his mind. He was worried for Anduin because it would ruin his plans, because as a friend he _should_ worry about him… he was _not_ being irrational about this.

The carriage that was sitting just outside of Stormwind was _just_ as Gilnean as Wrathion feared it might be. He was almost certain that fog was clinging to it, and half expected cobwebs on the dark wood exterior and the hanging, cast iron lanterns. Those who said that the Forsaken had cornered the aesthetic of “dark and gloomy” never had to spend time with a Gilnean.

Gavin was already sitting up on the padded driver’s bench, and, as Wrathion noted with some relief, was in his human form, though he looked no less eccentric with a hawkish nose and his dark grey hair sticking out in all directions. He looked to Wrathion and grinned, showing off sharp teeth and red eyes.

“What an honor it is to drive the Black Prince!” Gavin rumbled, and Wrathion couldn’t decide if the worgen was being sincere or not. … He probably was. Wrathion _was_ a pretty important person, after all.

He inclined his head to Gavin and reached for the doors, only to notice the cold metal that laced them. Not just the filigree designs, but the bars and reinforced locks. Wrathion hesitated, pulling his talons away from them.

“Ah, it’s for the prince,” Gavin said. “In case anything goes… wrong.” He gave a smile that was all teeth, and Wrathion looked away. He didn’t want to think about that, and he wouldn’t. Anduin would be _fine_ , they had potions, and they had a great Gilnean carriage driven by two giant horses. And Wrathion was here. Nothing _ever_ went wrong with Wrathion’s plans.

Speaking of the prince, Wrathion was just about to inquire about his whereabouts when he heard footsteps behind him. He turned, and saw Anduin hobbling along the white stone, a golden cane in his hand. Wrathion smiled for him, but the prince’s eyes were downcast. “Just in time,” Wrathion said. “I was beginning to wonder if you had gotten lost.”

Anduin said nothing. He ascended the step, with a little difficulty, and slipped into the carriage. Wrathion frowned, but followed him without another word. When Right and Left tried to follow, Wrathion stopped and looked at them. “Ah, I think it might be prudent if you stay with Gavin outside of the carriage.” Right and Left looked momentarily shocked, and then scowled at Wrathion before he shut the carriage door and situated himself across from Anduin.

Anduin still kept gazing at the floor, barely noticing that he and Wrathion were alone. He could see the curled tips of Wrathion’s shoes, the way he kept tapping and shifting as if expecting Anduin to say something. Anduin didn’t. He was still in a fair amount of shock, and still hurt that Wrathion had _lied_ to him.

“Well, this is a cozy carriage.” Wrathion’s laconic voice shook Anduin out of his thoughts. “I mean, still Gilnean, but I might have to ask Madam Goya about producing something like this. It would be nice to travel in style, wouldn’t it?”

Anduin said nothing, flexing his hands. Wrathion leaned forward, causing Anduin to look up, but the dragon had seized his cane and was turning it in his hands.

“This is new, and exquisitely made,” Wrathion said. “No doubt a gift from your father, but I wonder how it’ll hold up in the rocky mountainside of Gilneas.”

Anduin rolled his eyes and tried to snatch it back from Wrathion. “It’ll be fine,” he said.

Wrathion caught Anduin’s arm and grinned. “I got you talking!” The carriage lurched into motion, making Anduin pitch, and Wrathion managed to yank Anduin forward with the momentum.

“W-what… are you doing?” Anduin hissed, and tried to pull himself out of the black dragon’s grasp.

“Ah, what I must, Prince Anduin. This ride is going to get _awfully_ boring if I’m the one doing all the talking,” Wrathion said.

“I don’t want to talk to you,” Anduin bit back. The Black Prince frowned.

“Well, that’s a little unusual of you. Why not?”

“Because you _lied_!” Anduin snapped.

Wrathion blinked. “Lied? No, I—“

“Yes, you _did_!” The anger was rising in Anduin again. “I heard you, Wrathion! I heard _every_ word!”

There was a long moment of silence from Wrathion, and he folded his hands in his lap, letting go of Anduin. “I was trying to protect you, Anduin—“

“Protect me? Protect _me_?” Anduin snarled. “What about protecting that pandaren?! What about _her_? I’m… I…” He growled. “Why didn’t you _stop_ me?”

“Because you were halfway gone by the time we picked up your trail!” Wrathion snapped. “And by the time we found… we found it…”

“That _thing_ was me, Wrathion!” Anduin was almost shouting, and he felt the tears starting to stain his face again. “That was _me_! That was _me_ who killed her, a-and _me_ who will do it again! _I’m_ the monster, Wrathion! And you… you _lied_ about it!”

There was another very long moment of silence, and Wrathion looked at Anduin with a cold gaze. “If you consider yourself a monster for doing something that wasn’t in your control… what am I to you then, prince?”

Anduin hesitated. “Wrathion, this isn’t about you.” Before he realized it, Wrathion had his hands on his shoulders and pinned him to the wall of the carriage, forcing Anduin to meet his piercing red eyes.

“I _killed_ them, Anduin,” Wrathion said, his voice a low growl. “Every last black dragon. I helped slay them all. I did this perfectly conscious of every action. I did this, and my hands were coated with blood. _You_ were not in control of what you did, but _I_ was. Now, are you going to sit there and call me a liar because I chose not to tell you something that you had no control over? Or are you going to call me a monster too, Prince Anduin?”

Anduin tried to look away from Wrathion, but the Black Prince made it impossible. His face was inches from Anduin’s own, and his gaze threatened to pierce through Anduin completely. _Did_ he think Wrathion was a monster for what he did? If Anduin considered himself one… But no. Wrathion was different. He did what he felt he had to do. The black dragon flight was irredeemable, and Anduin had known that. That pandaren didn’t need to die, but Anduin had killed her.

“I…” Anduin started, but when he saw the way Wrathion was looking at him, he felt the words stick to the roof of his mouth. There was anger in the Black Prince’s gaze that silenced Anduin. He looked away, and felt Wrathion’s claws on his chin, forcing his head back.

“Well?” Wrathion said. “I want to hear you say it.”

“Y-you… You aren’t a monster, Wrathion.”

A measure of relief entered the Black Prince’s gaze, only to disappear as he stared into Anduin’s eyes. “But you think of yourself as one, do you not?”

“I…” Anduin hesitated. “I… Wrathion, it’s not… so simple…”

“It is, Prince Anduin. If you consider actions out of your control as making you something evil… then I am unredeemable in your eyes.” Wrathion’s gaze flicked across Anduin’s face, and he let go of the prince, sitting back in the carriage. “That is the way you view the situation.”

“Wrathion, it’s _not_!” Anduin snapped. “You _aren’t_ a monster, but _I_ turned into one, and… and the Light’s gone, Wrathion!” Putting it into words made something drop in Anduin’s stomach, that empty, hollow feeling spreading through him. “The Light… it’s gone. I can’t… I can’t _feel_ it anymore.”

Wrathion watched Anduin without a flicker of emotion crossing his cool face. His gaze slid out one of the grated windows. “The Light has never touched me, Anduin.”

Anduin bit his lip, hard. “This is different.”

“It is not, but you refuse to call me a monster, yet you will label yourself as one without viewing the way events have unfolded.” Wrathion crossed his arms over his chest. “If I could go back, Anduin, I would make the same choices I did… over and over again. Because _I_ was the one who made them. You are not in control of your own actions, Prince Anduin.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that the Light has left me,” Anduin said. “My actions are… they’re…” He trailed off, feeling the weight of the dragon’s gaze on him.

“Your actions are not in your control,” Wrathion said, keeping his tone level, more like he was placating a child. “You are not responsible for what happened, and if the Light realizes this, it will come back. And if you want to label yourself as a monster… You know my feelings on the matter. You can’t call yourself one and ignore my actions because of your blind faith. Protect your sanity, but do so without becoming a hypocrite.”

Anduin ground his back teeth. He wanted to scream at the black dragon. He wanted to curse. He wanted to tear his hair out and cry until there was nothing left. Instead, he sat there in silence, staring at the floor and ignoring the hot pinpricks of emotions that stabbed just behind his eyes.

Control. He _had_ to control his emotions, control… what he had become. And maybe Wrathion was right—it was the beast, not him, that did this… but Anduin knew too the dangers of not taking responsibility.

Wrathion snorted, and in a puff of smoke and a brush of power against Anduin’s cheek, had transformed into his whelp form, curling in the cloth of his turban and keeping his spine toward Anduin. It was a clear signal: _This conversation is over until you change your mind_. The Black Prince had done this often enough.

Anduin tore his gaze away from the whelp, and looked out the window, watching the uneven patterns of foliage and sunlight waver by.

It would be a long trip.

Both of the princes had dozed, the swaying of the carriage and the muted light through the windows, not to mention the events of the past days all conspiring against them. Anduin was in a much lighter sleep, and woke up the moment that the carriage had stopped moving. The light bump on the head that he received _also_ helped. He groaned, and squinted when the door opened up. Night had fallen, and a humid, sticky air blew into the carriage. He could barely see the figure in the starlight, but his teeth shown and his eyes flashed in the darkness.

“Evening loves,” Gavin Marlsbury said. “It’s nighttime, and we can’t push the horses much further less they collapse. So you and your friend had best get out here and help me with the tents, hm?” He turned away before either of them could answer, half shutting the door behind him.

“Tents? We’re _camping_?” Wrathion groaned, slipping his little body between the rolls of fabric that were once his turban. “I never agreed to this.”

“The door’s that way, Black Prince!” Gavin snickered. “But I daresay you’re going to have a hard time getting back in all this muck!”

Wrathion rolled his eyes, transforming back into his human visage and momentarily covering the interior of the carriage in smoke before he stepped out… and sunk his ankle into mud. He couldn’t help the disgruntled noise that escaped him, and he pulled his boot out of the mud.

“Disgusting,” he growled. “Where _are_ we?”

“Wetlands.” Anduin’s voice sounded tired, and he climbed down the steps more gingerly than Wrathion. When he placed his cane in the soggy ground, it sunk halfway. Anduin sighed. “This…”

“I do believe the phrase ‘This sucks’ is nowhere _near_ adequate,” Wrathion hissed. “Right, Left! Do something about this!”

Anduin stared at Wrathion, and when Wrathion looked back, the priest only shook his head, muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like ‘fool’, and squelched his way through the mud. Wrathion sneered at the back of his head, and Right and Left materialized beside him, looking very peeved about something. Wrathion really did not want to hear what they had to say, and opened his mouth to state this, when Right and Left beat him to it.

“If I have to sit next to that _wolf_ again,” Left snarled around her tusks, “I will slit his throat.”

“Dirty man,” Right shuddered, hugging herself. “Saying all of that…”

Wrathion let out a very long, very tired sigh. “What happened?”

To Wrathion’s bemusement, they only glared at him, and then shoved a rolled up piece of fabric at him—by its heft and weight, it was his tent. His frown grew. “Excuse me? You aren’t setting this up?”

“Black Prince makes us sit with that worgen,” Left growled, “Black Prince makes his own bed.” Both of them stalked into the night, gathering up what little dry wood remained in the place. Gavin Marslbury too had disappeared, and Anduin was following in the worgen’s footsteps.

This left Wrathion alone with setting up a tent. He seethed, and went about his task grudgingly. It barely lasted five minutes, and he gave up, deciding to let Anduin work on it, and by then Gavin and the others had returned, building a small fire that starved the insects away from their campsite. Gavin had resumed his worgen form in order to utilize the beast’s strength in carrying firewood, and as he sat in front of the fire, Anduin’s eyes almost popped out of his skill. Gavin grinned at the prince. “Still scared, love? Hope you don’t look in a mirror anytime soon.”

Wrathion cleared his throat. “The food, Gavin?”

“Ah yes, of course.” Gavin reached behind him, and threw a few thick slabs of… meat, Wrathion assumed, onto a rack above the fire. His claws and teeth gleamed in the firelight, and his tongue flickered out across his muzzle as he watched the meat begin to sizzle.

“C-can you just… turn back?” Anduin’s voice was almost pleading. “Please?”

The laugh that escaped Gavin was sinister, and his grin threatened to swallow them all in teeth. “Sure, love,” he said, and without a wince, but the crunching sounds of bone he had turned back into the wild haired, wild eyed Gilnean.

Wrathion personally thought it didn’t matter which form he took, the man _still_ looked sinister. Anduin, however, had eased back, and this made Gavin laugh all the harder. His voice still had that rough edge to it, and Wrathion watched as Gavin’s throat bulged for a second, before he placed a hand to his throat and swallowed.

Disgusting.

“I’m amazed that worgen who bit you is still around,” Gavin said cheerfully. “Figured they’d be drawn and quartered.”

Anduin blinked. “What do you mean?”

“Ah, you know… tarred and feathered? Long drop and a short stop?” As Anduin (and Wrathion) both continued to stare at Gavin, he gave a sigh and rolled his eyes. “Dead! I mean bloody dead!”

Anduin shook his head. “I… no, why would they be dead? He… it wasn’t his fault.”

Gavin studied the Alliance Prince, and then his smile became a shade darker. “You don’t know love, do you?” His voice was soft.

“Know what?” Anduin’s lips turned slightly in a scowl. “You can stop patronizing me like this!”

“I ain’t patronizing love.” The worgen hesitated for a moment, and then stared at Anduin with an intensity that even Wrathion felt. “The order that your father gave, shortly after we cursed Gileans settled onto kaeldorei lands, the order that Greymane was _forced_ to sign less we be turned back out to those Forsaken.”

“ _What_ order?” Anduin snapped, and Wrathion began to notice how Anduin’s eyes were luminescent.

“The Execution order.” Gavin’s eyes flickered back to the fire. “Any worgen who spread the curse… was to be beheaded. No trial. The newly infected were to be put down in the same manner.”

Suddenly the aggression between Varian and Greymane made sense. Too much sense. Anduin tried to process the information, couldn’t, and shook his head. “I… you mean…”

“I mean exactly what I said love,” Gavin said, and perhaps there was something less kind in his voice. “The curse was brought with us Gilneans, and your father intends for it to _die_ with us Gilneans… And anyone caught spreading it, even to willing participants, is to be killed, as are the newly cursed.” Gavin flicked his gaze into the fire.

“Willing? But…” Anduin couldn’t think of _anyone_ who wanted this curse willingly, but there was a hard edge to Gavin that told him not to pursue that line of questioning. “… But the curse can be controlled now. If someone’s willing…”

“It don’t matter to your father,” Gavin said, and his gaze was as predatory as if he had never turned back into a human. “He doesn’t want more of us, and he’ll do anythin’ to keep it that way. Imagine if all the humans in the Alliance suddenly came down with the curse… well. They’d start to see things our way, hm? Maybe not listen to your father so much… start listening to _our_ king.” Gavin looked up at the waning moon. “Start listening to the demands of the worgens. Maybe decide that Stormwind isn’t so cozy anymore once you have fangs. That the disdain of the elves is a bit too much. Decide that… the Alliance is only a temporary home.”

“What you speak of is treason,” Wrathion kept his voice level.

“Aye, only if it’s true,” Gavin said. “Which your friend’s father thinks it is.” He looked to Anduin. “And now, you’re infected, and that worgen who infected you has run free. He’s torn between the laws he put down, and keepin’ what you are a secret, less he go executin’ his only son.” Gavin’s smile flashed in the firelight. “Now I think you realize what a delicate position we are all in, Prince Anduin.”

The night was quiet, but for Varian, it was not calm. His emotions pitched and roiled like the seas in a storm. Sleep would elude him, which is why he elected to stay on the throne until the cold stone had reached his bones. No one would be coming at this hour, he knew, but he couldn’t leave his throne. Instincts played their fingers on the back of his neck, and he knew something would happen. Not when it would, but that it would.

When he heard the soft padding footsteps in the hallway before his guards, he knew this was the event he had been waiting for. Varian glanced up, sitting rigid on his throne, and realized that some part of him had been expecting the red furred Pandaren, her muzzle greyed by age, tear streaks in her muzzle and holding a bundle of cloth in her paws. She walked with purpose, blue eyes staring at Varian without any of the hesitation or reverence he had come to know from his subjects.

She stared at him with _anger_.

The pandaren marched to Varian’s feet and dumped the cloth at his boots. The cloth was soaked through with blood, and he could just see the broken handle of a rake poking from them.

“This is all that remains of my sister!” The pandaren’s voice shook with anger, her teeth biting into her muzzle. “She was tending to her crops, and she was _attacked. Killed_! Nothing in the Valley kills pandaren!”

Varian watched her, watched how her hands balled up into fists, how she shifted weight onto the balls of her feet. “Why have you come to me?” He said, though his own voice was quiet, and he knew exactly why she had come.

“We found tracks! They belonged to _worgen_ — _your_ people, Varian!” She snarled, dropping his title. She took a step closer, restraint keeping her from launching for him. “You promised us that we would find safety within the Alliance! You _promised us_ you would keep us from harm!”

Varian glanced down at the bundle. “We are still—“ he began, but the pandaren cut him off.

“I don’t want your words Varian! Your words are _meaningless_! They are sand in the wind!” She bristled, tail lashing. “I want the head of that worgen, Varian. I want _all worgen_ gone from Pandaria!” She sucked in her breath, trembling on the last note. “You enjoy the support of my people on Pandaria as we recover from the atrocities of war… And that support can be taken away.” She gathered up the bundle, shoulders set, eyes hard as stone. “Our loyalty to our own goes beyond this petty Alliance. If you are the monsters that you swore you would not be… We _will_ withdraw, and your Alliance will know how unforgiving our land can be.”

She turned and left, never looking back, never giving Varian another word. Varian watched her go, saying nothing. He felt Greymane’s presence beside him, but he could not have said when the worgen king appeared. It could have been minutes, it could have been hours.

It was Greymane who broke the silence. “She won’t rest until you’ve given her the head of who’s responsible.”

Varian dug his fingers into his palms, willing his anger down. Anduin would be disappointed.

“Or will you try to pass the blame onto someone else? Some other worgen who hasn’t done any wrong, other than be at the wrong place in their life.” Greymane’s eyes bored into him. “You’re playing a game here, a game I fear you will lose.”

Varian’s hand closed around Greymane’s throat, but the king was too quick, materializing on the other side of his throne. His eyes glowed in the moonlight, fangs appearing over his lips.

“You would throw my people to hell in order to protect your interests,” Greymane said. “Now that your son is one of us…”

“Genn Greymane,” Varian snarled, “ _leave me_.”

“How can I? You might do something stupid.”

Varian’s fist slammed into the wall where the worgen king was—but the king had sidestepped his blow, and fur now bristled over Greymane’s form, his wolfish silhouette unnerving as it passed by the stained glass.

“You are bound by your own shortsightedness Varian,” Greymane’s voice echoed in the halls. “Even now! I hope your boy comes back, for I do wish to see how you handle your own hypocrisy.”

Varian watched the worgen stalk through his halls, and felt his hand tightening on the hilt of his sword before he knew his own actions.

Anduin would be disappointed in him. Varian eased back into his throne, and closed his eyes.


End file.
